


Twisted Strings of Fate

by TheMiraculousOkapi



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Darkwing Duck fights crime, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Launchpad is a nerd, Love Triangles, Magic, OC, POV Third Person Omniscient, Super cursed, Sweet Launchpad McQuack, Wait for it, we're going on an adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMiraculousOkapi/pseuds/TheMiraculousOkapi
Summary: Whenever Launchpad gets a day off, he goes to visit his childhood friend, Charity, who has a mysterious illness where she bruises easily and her bones break often. But when Charity is taken to the hospital and Launchpad rushes to see her, the Duck family follows and finds out that she isn't sick at all. She's just under a curse. A curse that creates a bond between her, her best friend, her favorite TV star, and two heroes. Eventual love triangle.The story takes place after the second season, a few months after the moon invasion.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story gets updated on Tuesdays.

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 1

_I was ten when I found my first love. My friends had talked about their crushes, boys they met in the halls or were cute or popular or nice. Some had “celebrity crushes,” either actors or members of bands. These crushes were fleeting and often ended with they found someone new to daydream about._

_But I wasn’t like my friends. My mom would often say that the people in our family should be picky about whom we fall in love with; our family tended to have a longevity for loyalty. At the time, I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I was different from my friends._

_Then one day, I sat on the couch with my mother’s head in my lap as she shook with pain in her stomach and head. It was a Saturday, and she promised to take me to the park, but after seeing how she felt, I didn’t mind staying home. I was used to it._

_Dad was gone, which was just fine with us, so we ordered delivery and watched TV._

_I flipped around the channels, trying to find something to get my mom’s mind off the pain. And then he appeared. My sense of beauty at that age hadn’t quite developed as far as others, but Mom said he was handsome. Perhaps he defined the word for me after that day._

_As the show progressed, my mom sat up, laughing at the funny parts. In those days, she hardly laughed. Most of the time, she seemed miserable, always taking aspirin for headaches and throwing up in the toilet. Soon, we both were actively watching, trying to guess what would happen next. The channel must have had a marathon since we watched all day. It had been a miracle that it distracted my mom enough that she baked a cake, an apology for skipping the park._

_My mom was everything to me, and I couldn’t help but see the star of that show as my own personal hero. It was the happiest day we had had in a long time. It was the first time I remembered my mother being that happy, to have the strength to pretend she wasn’t in pain even if it was for just a few hours._

_And I loved him for it._

_My friends didn’t understand how I could love a fictional character. It was weird. I didn’t care. I loved him anyway. I was finally like my friends, now knowing why they giggled and smiled at the names of their crushes. My heart quickened just like theirs. My cheeks burned. In a way, it made me feel normal to finally have my own crush._

_I was in love with Darkwing Duck._

_Not long after that, I noticed the bruises on my legs and arms, unsure where I got them. Kids get bruises all the time from playing around, small and innocent. But these were large, black, and ugly, forming in placed I was certain I hadn’t gotten hurt. They came so frequently that the school was concerned._

_That’s when Mom took me to a doctor who told me I had Cushing’s Syndrome. He explained how I could get hurt easily and not know it, warning that I had to be much more careful in my play._

_I did, but I kept getting more bruises and cuts and other pains no matter how cautious I was. It wasn’t until a couple of years after my diagnosis that they started to abate. I kept getting them, but far and few between. I believed that I had managed my condition._

_But I was wrong._

_On top of all that, Darkwing Duck, the TV show that my mom and I had a solid connection to, was canceled._

***

“Alright, lads and lassie. Is everyone packed? Dewey, did you grab the sword that hangs over the fireplace in the second floor study?”

“Uh…I grabbed a sword from one study,” the young duck said, holding out a glowing sword.

“Which study?” the elderly Scottsman asked patiently. “Was it the study with the green carpets and the suit of armor in the corner?”

Dewey’s eyes rolled upward as he recalled his memories. “Uh…I think the carpets were green but I don’t remember the suit of armor.”

“Oh, for the love of…” Scrooge rubbed his face. “There must have been a suit of armor in the corner. How many studies do I have on the second floor with green carpet?”

Dewey shrugged.

Louie broke in. “You have a lot of rooms in your mansion, Uncle Scrooge, and they all look the same.”

Dewey held out the sword. “Does it matter which sword I grabbed? This one is awesome. It should be helpful in our adventure.”

“Depends on the sword,” Scrooge said, adjusting his specs. “If that is the Sword of the Jackal King, then it will lead us to the Cassiopeian oasis in the farthest, driest, most deadly desert on Earth. Without it, we could travel for days, become lost and die of thirst, leaving our bodies to scavengers until our bones sink beneath the sand.”

The triplets eyes widened.

“Let’s make sure we get the right sword,” Huey said, carefully taking the sword out of Dewey’s hands.

“Sorry, Uncle Scrooge,” Dewey said sheepishly. “I didn’t know the sword was so important. I thought we just needed any old sword.”

Scrooge patted him on the head. “That’s alright, lad. Although, come to think of it, if Webby were here, she would have known exactly which sword I was talking about.”

“Where did you say Mom took her and Mrs. Beakley?” Louie asked.

Scrooge shrugged. “Eh, they went on some ‘Girl’s-Day-Out’ trip. Probably to the mall or the spa or something.” Scrooge waved his hands sarcastically just to show what he thought of such outings.

***

Hundreds of miles away, Della wrestled a tentacle of the dreaded kraken, which had Scrooge’s yacht in a tight hug, trying to drag it down into the ocean’s depths. “See, girls. Isn’t this relaxing?” she called out before biting down on the rubbery flesh.

Mrs. Beakley jammed a harpoon into the large gun on the deck for such occasions. When you work for Mr. McDuck, it is surprising how many harpoons you go through. “Webby, hand me the jar.”

The young girl, deftly dodging tentacles left and right, tossed a glass jar to her granny as carelessly as if she were handing ingredients for a cake.

Mrs. Beakley poured a generous dollop of the contents of the jar onto the harpoon, took careful aim, and fired. The harpoon sunk into the kraken’s flesh. While the harpoon was nothing more than a pinprick for the monster, the goop had a more powerful effect.

Within seconds, the tentacles dropped, as lively as dead slugs, and the kraken sank below the surface.

“What was that stuff?” Della asked, jumping back on deck.

“Kraken muscle relaxers,” Mrs. Beakley said, showing the jar. “Mr. McDuck never goes sailing without it.”

“Ahhh, what fun is that?” Della said, scuffing her metallic foot against the deck and folding her arms in a pout.

“Oh, there’s sure to be more fun coming. Remember, krakens always come in twos,” Mrs. Beakley said.

Just as if her words were the dinner bell, another kraken rose out of the water, arms flailing and wrapping around the boat.

Webby whooped and raised her hands in the air. “Best Girl’s-Day-Out ever!”

***

“Here’s the right one, Uncle Scrooge,” Huey said, returning with a second glowing sword.

“Aye, that’s it, lad,” Scrooge said, taking the sword. “You boys need to understand that not every tool is the right fit for the job. Pick your tools wisely, and you’ll be kings when you get older.”

Both Huey and Dewey grinned at their great-uncle’s words of wisdom, but Louie merely nodded as he scrolled through his phone.

“Now then, let’s get the plane loaded and we can head out on our adventure,” Scrooge said, pointing his cane forward like a band leader’s baton.

As the four ducks loaded the red plane, they noticed that they lacked one member of the expedition.

“Where’s Launchpad? We’re burning daylight,” Scrooge grumbled, glaring at the piolet’s empty seat.

“There he is.” Huey pointed through the windows to where the tall duck was pulling out of the driveway in a dinged up, old Pontiac that he owned. The poor car had so many dents and scuffs, it was a wonder it still had any paint.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Scrooge shouted, racing out of the plane toward Launchpad’s car before he could make it out of the gates.

“Good morning, Mr. McD,” Launchpad said, waving and smiling as if the elderly duck wasn’t glaring icily at him.

“Where are you going?” Scrooge repeated, hooking his cane over the open window.

“It’s Wednesday, Mr. McD,” Launchpad explained.

Scrooge put a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Oh, that’s right. You’re day off. Well, can’t you come with us just this once?”

“That’s what you said last Wednesday. And the one before that. And the one before that,” Launchpad said, still smiling brightly.

“Really?” Scrooge looked to the triplets for help.

“He’s right,” Huey said. He pulled out a cell phone, looking up his great-uncle’s schedule “In fact, it looks as if Launchpad hasn’t had a day off in months.”

“Way to go treating your employees,” Louie said, smirking at his uncle.

“Wh-I-ah,” Scrooge stumbled over an excuse before clearing his throat. “You’re absolutely right, Launchpad. I’m sorry. Take the day off. And I promise not to let it slip again.”

“Thanks, Mr. McD. You’re the best boss in the world.” Launchpad drove forward, nicking his car against the gate with a horrible grinding sound before turning into the street.

After the banged-up car disappeared, Scrooge leaned over to Huey. “Put that in my schedule, please.”

“Already on it,” Huey said, typing away.

“Then what are we going to do for the day?” Dewey asked, staring off into space. “I’m already geared for an adventure. My nerves are coiled like a spring. My wild instincts need some way to vent. What are we going to do?” His voice continued to build until he was shouting and shaking Louie by his hoodie.

“Turn it down a notch,” Scrooge said, walking back to his mansion. “We’re having a day in.”

“Wohoo,” Louie cheered, running after Scrooge and beating everyone inside.

Huey and Dewey followed, the latter trembling with nervous energy.

“What does Launchpad do with his days off?” Huey asked when he was side-by-side with Scrooge.

“I don’t know. Every Wednesday morning, he leaves and doesn’t come back until evening,” Scrooge said. “He’s never said anything about it before.”

“Whoa, you don’t think he actually has a life or something,” Louie said, sarcasm biting his words.

“Do you think he’s doing his own adventures? You know, like solo missions?” Dewey asked, acting like an addict without a fix.

“Oh, don’t you bother him. He’s entitled to his privacy,” Scrooge said. “Now, everyone rest up because tomorrow, we’ll definitely go on an adventure!”

“Yay,” Huey and Dewey cheered.

“Yay,” Louie echoed a few beats behind his brothers with less enthusiasm.

***

Launchpad knocked on the familiar white door, holding his hat in his hands and beaming from ear to ear. He waited patiently, listening for footsteps. When the door opened, his smile grew. “Hey, Mrs. L! It’s me. Launchpad.”

The female lovebird that opened the door faced Launchpad with a disapproving scowl. “I know who you are, Launchpad.” She stayed where she was, letting silence keep the distance between them.

After a while, Launchpad asked, “Is Charity home?”

With a sigh, the lovebird stepped back, opening the door wider. “Yes, she is. Come on in.” Her voice spoke volumes of her reluctance to say those words.

“Thanks, Mrs. L. Is she in her room?” Launchpad pointed up the stairs that were just right of the front door.

“She is, but she’s not feeling well,” the lovebird said. Unconsciously, she rubbed her arm which was bandaged.

“Is she sick?”

“No, she…hurt her head. And twisted her wrist. Thank goodness she didn’t get a concussion this time.” She glared at Launchpad, her eyes like daggers.

“Then it’s a good thing that I brought her something to cheer her up,” Lauchpad said happily, holding up a plastic bag. “I’ll just go up. Nice to see you again, Mrs. L.” He skipped up the stairs, still smiling.

The house was just as familiar to him as his own, walking down the hall to the room farthest from the stairs. A sign with flower and unicorn stickers hung on the door with the word “Charity” painted in pink with the skills of an elementary child. Other signs were taped around the door, one saying, “Warning: Danger Area” with a picture of Darkwing Duck’s face on it.

Launchpad took a moment to look at the door, drinking in the memories and the nostalgia of it, only noticing one difference to the décor. A picture of Gizmo Duck had been taped, positioned so it looked as if he were holding a sign that said, “Nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it.”

Then he knocked.

“Come in.”

He burst in, shouting, “Surprise! It’s me!”

“Launchpad!” the voice squealed in delight. Flinging aside her Darkwing Duck comforter and sheets, Charity jumped out of bed and into Launchpad’s arms. “I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

Launchpad knew the routine. He caught the female lovebird in his arms and swung her around, both of them acting like they were five instead of their actual ages. Only a few years younger than him, Charity, even at twenty-five, was light enough that he effortlessly spun her around and around until they were too dizzy to stand.

Falling onto her bed, Charity laughed as the room spun around her. “What happened, Launchpad? I missed you so much.”

Charity was the splitting image of her mother. Both lovebirds had black faces, white feathers starting at the neck and slowly turning blue the lower they went. Both had curly hair although Charity kept hers long, past her shoulders in a blue and white halo, while her mother had clipped hers short and manageable. The only other difference between Charity and Mrs. Loveatte was that the older lovebird was shorter and somewhat plumper.

“Mr. McD needed me,” Launchpad explained. “He’s always busy, sometimes he forgets when I have a day off.”

Charity chuckled and ruffled the feathers on Launchpad’s head. “You have such a good heart. You can’t say no to him.”

“Well, today I did,” Launchpad said, sitting up.

“That means a lot. I know how much you love flying him around the world.” Charity sat up, too, crossing her legs.

“I wish you could come with us. Flying is the best,” Launchpad said, his voice rising in volume. “The sky is where I belong. Did you know that prehistoric birds once could fly without needing machines? True fact.”

“Well, they would have to since airplanes weren’t invented,” Charity joked, making Launchpad laugh.

“Maybe I could ask Mr. McD if you could come…” Launchpad said.

Charity’s face sagged a bit, and when her smile vanished, her eyes looked hollow. “You know I can’t. It’s…too dangerous.”

“Yeah, but if I promise not to crash, it wouldn’t be dangerous,” Launchpad suggested.

Charity’s smile returned. “Yeah, like you could keep that promise.” She punched his bomber jacket’s arm lightly. “Enough of that. What did you bring me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Launchpad said, feigning ignorance.

Charity bounced on her bed. “Oh, don’t you start that. You always bring something. What is it?”

“Okay. Okay,” Launchpad started, holding up the plastic sack. “From the darkest, depths of Duckburg, in my adventures, I have found treasure beyond description. It came from the Temple of the Ice-Cream Parlor where a secret, never been tasted flavor had been invented for those of the discretional palates. I have braved through traps, vicious monsters, and deadly plants to bring you this most holy of snack. Behold.”

He unwrapped the plastic sack, presenting a carton printed with dark colors and the face of the newest crime-fighter of St. Canard.

Charity’s gasp lasted a full minute as she held the ice-cream carton as if it were a priceless relic. “Darkwing Duck is a flavor! He’s a flavor! Oh my gosh, this is the best.” Without waiting, she popped the top off and sniffed. “Yeah, I don’t know why I did that. Ice-cream doesn’t have much of a scent.”

“Then you must partake of it with your mouth,” Launchpad said, handing her a plastic spoon, keeping one for himself.

Together, they dipped into the purple-colored ice-cream, it softened by the length of Launchpad’s trip. They both put the spoons in their mouths at the same time, smacking down on the cold treat.

“Hmmmmm. Grape flavor, but that was a given. There’s not many purple flavors. But there’s also dark chocolate chips and something else.” Charity rolled her tongue around, chewed some more, and swallowed. “And raisins?”

“Bingo.” Launchpad took another bite. “It hurts my heart that it doesn’t taste that good.”

“Yeah. It kind of has a bitter after taste, too.” Charity shrugged, eating more. “Well, not everything can be as awesome as Darkwing.”

“I hear ya.”

They ate a few more bites.

“Do you want to watch some episodes?” Launchpad asked.

“Uh…Does Darkwing always get back right up?” Charity replied.

“Yes, he does,” Launchpad shot up, pulling out the VHS he always carried around.

“No need, LP,” Charity said, rushing to a bookcase and pulling something out. “I have it all on DVD.”

“What!” Launchpad shouted, snatching the box set out of the female’s hands. “When did this come out? Are there any extras? There’s bloopers!”

Charity smirked, hands on her hips. “That’s what happens when you’re too busy with work to come see your best friend. They released it a few weeks ago. Mom got it for me for my birthday.”

“Whoa, never-before-seen scenes. And Jim Starling interviews. And the writers talk about the missing epi—Wait, your birthday?” Launchpad looked up from his obsession. “Oh, no. Did I forget your birthday?”

“Yeah. It’s no big deal,” Charity said with a shrug and a smile. “I know you’re busy. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, that just means I’ll have to get you something special.” Launchpad went over to the TV on the opposite wall of Charity’s bed and put in one of the discs. “Hey, maybe I can get the _real_ Darkwing come see you.”

Charity laughed. “Don’t even joke about that,” she said, settling on her bed with her pillows propped against the headboard and making room for Launchpad. “You’ll break my heart.”

“I’m serious.” Launchpad took a flying leap and jumped on the bed.

Charity winced. “You mean you know Darkwing Duck? I know you’ve meet Jim Starling, but you couldn’t possibly know the _real Darkwing_?”

Launchpad’s eyes widened. Yeah, that wasn’t something he was supposed to talk about. “Uh…Well, Mr. McD has a lot of connections. I don’t know. Maybe he can pull some strings or something?”

Charity smiled. She looked away, her cheeks reddening. “You would do that for me?” She looked up into his eyes.

“Yeah. You know I’d do anything for you Charity. I love you.”  
Charity’s smile deepened, her blush deepening.

“Like a sister!” Launchpad added louder, then grinned.

Charity grinned right back, hugging him. “And I love you, too, Launchpad.”

Reaching over to her nightstand, Launchpad picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “Which episode should we watch first?”

“The Valentine’s Day one, duh,” Charity told him, taking another bite of the ice-cream.

“We always watch that one,” Launchpad complained, but only a little.

“It’s my favorite,” Charity defended. “It’s so beautiful how he and Morgana can never be together because she won’t ever give up being evil.”

“Aw, you and your chick-flicks,” Launchpad said, pressing play on the episode.

“Don’t you knock the chick-flicks. I know you secretly love them,” Charity teased, tapping his beak. She snuggled up to his side and settled in to watch the show.

As the theme song played, Charity said, “If you want to give me something special for my birthday, can I make a request?”

“Anything for you, Charity. Just ask.”

There was a pause. “Mr. McDuck is always adventuring and finding ancient relics and magical items, right?”

“I guess. It’s sort of a hobby of his.”

Another pause. “Would it be possible for you to ask him if I could talk to him? Just for a little while?”  
Launchpad shifted. “I could ask. Mr. McD is a great guy. I don’t see why not.”

“Then that’s what I want for my birthday. I just want to talk to him for a few minutes.”

“I didn’t know you were a fan.”

Charity didn’t reply.

During the episode, they were quiet as they watched, eating the ice-cream more because it was there than because it was good. Near the climax of the story, when the ice-cream had been set aside to melt, a snuffling sound occasionally could be heard over the sound of the TV.

“You okay, Charity?” Launchpad asked.

There was a pause, and Charity rubbed her beak. “It’s this episode. It always gets to me.”

Launchpad looked down at his friend, noticing for the first time something underneath the sleeve of her sweater. He pulled the fabric away, seeing a familiar brace around her wrist, binding the joint tight.

Charity didn’t say anything.

“Your mom said you weren’t feeling well,” Launchpad said.

“She exaggerates.”

Launchpad remembered the bandage on Mrs. Loveatte’s arm as well. “Did your mom get hurt, too?”

“Just a burn,” Charity muttered, her tone telling she didn’t want to talk about it.

Launchpad rotated his arm and put it around Charity, drawing her closer. “You need to take better care of yourself. You and your mom are so clumsy.”

“I know,” Charity said softly.


	2. Chapter 2

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 2

_I don’t write this journal because I want anyone to know the pain I’m going through. I write it down because it helps me to forget the pain. The longer I live, the more I see my body as an enemy, preventing me from enjoying life. Yet, the bruises and cuts, the sprains and broken bones, the sickness and chills that I experience, is nothing compared to the hurt within my heart. It may sound dramatic, but it is the truth. If I love any more than I do, I may break._

***

Just as Uncle Scrooge said, Launchpad returned to the mansion that evening, just in time for dinner. Mrs. Beakley, Della, and Webby were still away, so the boys convinced Scrooge to order pizza.

“Ah, Launchpad. Glad to have you back, lad,” Scrooge said as the boys dug into their pizza. “After dinner, I’d like to go over the checklist for the plane. We’re a day behind on our expedition, so I’d like to leave bright and early tomorrow.”

“Sure thing Mr. McD,” Launchpad said, sitting down next to Dewey and piling several pieces of pizza on his plate.

Through a bite of cheese and bread, Dewey asked, “So, what did you do on your day off?”

Louie rolled his eyes at his brother’s straightforwardness, and Huey grimaced that his brother’s tact bordered on rude.

But Launchpad didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, I went to visit a friend.”

Dewey waited since Launchpad usually volunteered more information than was necessary, but he got nothing. “And…”

“And we ate ice-cream and watched TV,” Launchpad finished the sentence with a shrug, eating like a growing boy.

Dewey wasn’t the sort to put his beak where it didn’t belong…Okay, so maybe he liked to snoop a bit…Okay, he snooped a lot. Unnecessarily so. And once he had a bone, he wasn’t going to let it go.

“What’s your friend’s name? What’s he like? Why haven’t you told me about him? I thought I your _best_ friend,” Dewey said, putting his hands on his chest to emphasize his words.

“Yeah, you’re, like, my best friend in Ducksburg. Charity has been my best friend since forever, and since she moved out of Ducksburg, I haven’t been able to see her as often anymore,” Launchpad explained as he ate.

“Charity? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Louie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say Charity is a girl,” Huey replied.

Dewey gasped, squishing his face. “Launchpad, you have a girlfriend?!” His voice oozed a tone half mocking, half teasing.

“Yeah, I do,” Launchpad said, shoving a whole slice of pizza in his mouth.

“Oooooooo,” all three boys hooted.

Scrooge knew that sound. He got the same treatment when they learned about Goldie. He found a newspaper and started reading it. There was no way he was getting involved.

“Are you in wuv with Chawity?” Dewey asked, lisping his words with exaggeration.

“I bet you smooched all day, didn’t you?” Louie joined in, making kissy noises.

“Are you going to get maaaaarried?” Huey added.

“What? Ew, no,” Launchpad said matter-of-factly. “I mean, I do love Charity, but she’s like a sister to me. And it’s not right to marry your sister.”

The boys’ teasing stopped flat. It was no fun when Launchpad didn’t get flustered. In fact, they couldn’t recall a time when Launchpad actually understood that he was being teased. Knowing their efforts weren’t appreciated, they returned to eating.

“So, if your friend doesn’t live in Ducksburg, where does she live?” Huey asked, more for the conversation than to satisfy any curiosity.

“In Winding Wing.”

“Where’s that?” Huey asked.

“It’s a thirty minute drive from here,” Launchpad told them. “Although, on a good day, I can do it in twenty.”

“And by a good day, you mean one where you don’t crash, right?” Dewey suggested.

“Right.”

“Wow, what a tiny town,” Louie said, scrolling through his phone. “It says there’s only a few thousand people living there. Why would anyone want to live in such a tiny place?”

“Some people like the quiet,” Scrooge said, showing how much his plan of not getting involved was working.

“Why did she move to Winding Wing?” Huey asked.

“A few years ago, her mom decided to move there.”

“She’s a grown woman. At least, I’m guessing she is,” Louie jumped in. “If her mom wanted to move, why didn’t she just stay here?”

At this Launchpad looked a little uncomfortable for the first time. “Uh…Charity kind of has a condition. She’s really sick, and her mom takes care of her.”

The boys stopped their questions, feeling as if they treaded too much into Launchpad’s personal life.

“Uh…That’s cool that you still go out to see her,” Dewey said tentatively with a smile. “Maybe she could come visit you, and we could meet her.”

Huey nodded in agreement.

Launchpad looked even more uncomfortable. “I wish she could, but the thing is, she’s got this genetic thing, I don’t remember what it’s called, but it makes it so she gets hurt easily. And then there’s something with her bones. She’s broken a lot of bones. She’s always got a cast or something on her. And then there’s something about her immune system, so she’s always sick. Her mom doesn’t like her to leave the house.”

Dewey and Huey’s mouths hung open at this explanation, speechless.

Only Louie was able to summarize their thoughts. “Well, that sucks.”

“Language,” Scrooge grunted a warning.

Dewey hissed to Huey. “That can’t be a real thing, can it?” The look on his face looked disturbed.

Huey pulled his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook from his hat, skimming the pages. “Well, when I was working on my Advanced, Advanced, Advanced First Aid badge, I learned a little bit about diseases. Everything that Launchpad described is real. But the chances of one person with all three conditions are astronomically small, but not impossible.”

“I guess Charity lost the medical lottery,” Dewey said, looking sad. “Launchpad, is there something we can do for your friend?”

Launchpad’s eyes widened, then he swallowed what was in his mouth. “Oh, it was Charity’s birthday last week, and I forgot to get her a present. She did ask a small favor.”

“What is it? We’ll do what it takes to fulfill her wish. Nothing is beyond the power of Dewey,” the blue-clad triplet said dashingly.

“She wanted to meet Mr. McD,” Lauchpad said with a big smile.

“Say what?” the triplets said together.

“Say what?” Scrooge said, lowering his newspaper.

“Please say you’ll do it, Mr. McD,” Launchpad pleaded, his eyes imploring. “If you do, I’ll never ask anything else from you ever again.”

“Well… ah…” Scrooge hemmed and hawed.

“Oh, come on Uncle Scrooge. She just wants to meet you,” Dewey added his own pleas. “It’s not like she’s an evil villain wanting to exact revenge on you.” He leaned over to Launchpad and whispered, “Is she an evil villain?”  
“Most definitely not,” Launchpad said, shaking his head.

“So, what’s stopping you from seeing her?” Dewey demanded of his uncle.

“Well…I have a business to run. And you boys take a lot of my time, too. If I were to give up my time to everyone who wanted to have a chat, I’d not have any time at all.”

“This is Launchpad who is asking,” Dewey argued. “He’s never asked anything for himself, and the one favor he’s wanting is for his sick friend. How could you turn that down?”

“Well, I…”

“And I’m in charge of your schedule,” Huey added. “I could move things around and make the time. In fact, I think you have a couple of hours next week free.”

“But that’s when I need time for myself. I need that time to recharge my batteries,” Scrooge countered.

“If you need time to relax, we could always cancel tomorrow’s adventure. After all, adventures have been known to cause unnecessary stress,” Louie added smugly.

Scrooge glared at his nephews. “Oh, all right. I’ll see her next week. But we are not canceling this trip again. We leave first thing in the morning.”

The boys cheered and exchanged high fives and fist bumps, more excited that they had once again manipulated their wily uncle. Helping Launchpad was just a bonus.

“Oh, thank you so much, Mr. McD. Charity will be so happy,” Launchpad said, beaming.

Scrooge only replied with grumbling, raising his newspaper.

***

Darkness was a source of fear for everyone; it was the place where the unknown lurked in the shadows. It could be a monster, a villain, or a knife poised to strike. The unknown kept people inside at night, off the streets, and safe in their homes. But sometimes when the sun goes down, citizens must leave safety and walk the streets, trekking where the shadows could touch them, only streetlights and store signs keeping the darkness at bay.

And even that wasn’t enough.

But in St. Canard, there was one person that didn’t fear the darkness. He was there to fight those with evil intensions. Those who had to venture out late at night did so with the belief that someone in the shadows was willing to be the fence of vengeance, protecting them from the monsters that crept through the night.

And that person was Darkwing Duck.

And Scrooge McDuck, who had generously loaned him the money at a low interest rate to provide him with the gadgets he needed to fight crime, to hide his identity, and to payoff that copyright suit against the creators of the Darkwing Duck TV series. So, St. Canard had two people to thank.

But mostly Darkwing Duck.

And Drake Mallard was happy to serve the city, taking none of the credit. Each night, he tried his best to live up to the name of Darkwing Duck, his hero and idol. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t that good at it, or that he only had his skills as an actor to start out with, or that nobody actually knew who Darkwing Duck was, or that he had to start his life completely over by moving to St. Canard and the only job he could find was working in a rubber duck packaging plant.

No, none of that mattered because as long as he could fight crime and save lives, he was happy.

A red light blinked on the computer board on his motorcycle, indicating an alarm had sounded on his system. It looked as if evil didn’t take a break, not even on a Wednesday night.

“Ah-ha, the St. Canard Museum of Shiny things,” Darkwing said to himself. He touched the screen, and it drew out the fastest path for him to get there. “It looks like the new exhibit on jade statues is attracting an audience after hours.”

He threw open the throttle and sped toward the museum.

A block away, he saw a car shift in gear and peal out in front of the museum, bright headlights coming toward him. A bike playing chicken with a car was just stupid, and if Darkwing was anything, it wasn’t stupid. But no matter where he turned, the car mirrored him.

At the last minute, Darkwing turned, to the right to prevent a collision. The car swerved with him, nicking his back wheel and causing the motorcycle to fishtail across the road.

Expertly, Darkwing gave the bike enough gas to straighten before skidding into a sharp, decelerating U-turn, leaving a streak on the asphalt. He gunned the gas, the motorcycle leaping forward with the front wheel lifting up.

The fleeing jewelry thieves turned a sharp corner down another straight, thinking that they could lose him. But they were wrong. When it came to speed and high-speed maneuvers, a motorcycle definitely had the advantage.

They turned down several corners, and each time Darkwing closed the distance between them until he was right on their tail. 

With every fiber of his being concentrating on the chase, the sound of his cell phone jingled in his helmet’s speakers playing the Darkwing Duck theme song on loud jolted him that he practically leapt in his seat, losing control of his vehicle for a few seconds.

He jammed a finger on his motorcycle’s touch screen, intending to send the call to voice mail, but slipped on the answer button.

“Hey, DW. What’s up?”

“Launchpad?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Launchpad, I can’t talk now. Can I talk to you later?” Darkwing shouted into the microphone.

“Okay, I’ll make it quick. You see, I have this really good friend. She’s been my best friend forever, and I kind of forgot her birthday, so I have to get her something good. And…well, she’s a huge Darkwing fan…”

“Uh-huh,” Darkwing said, only half-listening. Only faintly above Launchpad’s words did he hear a car window being smashed, spotting the glint of something poking out the back window. He didn’t know what it was until he heard the _BANG_ of a pistol.

“Launchpad!” he shouted over the gunshots as he performed a serpentine maneuver. “I’ll have to call you later.” He slammed his hand over the end call button, then reached down for his gas launcher.

New to crime-fighting, he had only a few times had a chance to use his gadgets on actual bad guys, and not successfully every time. And that was when they were standing still or running away. It would be a miracle if he made this shot.

“Suck gas, evil-doers,” he said through gritted teeth, hoping that the catch-phrase would bring him luck. He tensed his muscles as he pulled the trigger, feeling the kickback once the gunpowder was ignited.

An arc of smoke flew toward the car, sailing past the broken rear window which was where he was aiming. Instead, the canister of gas landed on the hood and somehow stayed lodged on the front of the car, billowing thick gas. The car swerved back and forth across the road before meeting a sturdy street light, stopping the car cold.

Breaking to a stop next to the car, Darkwing looked inside the vehicle, seeing through the gas three bodies inside. He opened the door tentatively, but nobody moved. Either the gas had knocked them out or the crash did. After checking their pulses, he slapped handcuffs on them and remotely called 9-1-1 for a police car and ambulance.

“The authorities can take it from here,” he said with a smile when he heard sirens. After one last check, his motorcycle roared away.

In an alley not far away, he listened to the police radio, learning that the pieces that were stolen from the museum had been recovered and the thieves were either on their way to jail or the hospital with a police escort.

“A job well done,” he congratulated himself, crossing his arms. That was when his right fingers felt something off about his costume. Feeling around, he found a hole the exact size of a bullet. “Oh, no.” Even though he felt no pain, he carefully examined his arm, searching for a wound that wasn’t there.

“It must have missed me barely,” he rationalized with a sigh of relief. Yet, something didn’t seem right. Even though he was still whole, his brain couldn’t figure out why there was no exit hole in his costume.

***

That night, the boys proclaimed that they would all have a movie night. Again, they persuaded Scrooge to join them, who promptly fell asleep in his recliner five minutes into the flick. Munching on popcorn and sipping soda, the boys and Launchpad sat through the first two Aliens That Look Like People films and were just about to pop in the third part of the franchise when Launchpad said he had to make a phone call.

“Who’s he calling? China? It’s past midnight,” Louie said, looking at his phone for the time.

Dewey and Huey ignored this. They had pried enough in Launchpad’s life for one day.

After a few minutes, Launchpad returned to the couch without a word, just in time for the next alien invasion.

Suspense was rising as the hero of the flick was beginning to understand that his wife might just be an alien when the Darkwing Duck theme song pierced the air, making the ducks jump in their seats and Scrooge snort in his sleep.

“That’s me,” Launchpad said, pulling out his phone. “It’s my friend, Charity. I can tell her about Mr. McD coming to see her.”

As Launchpad answered his phone, Huey pressed pause on the show. There was only a second of quiet as a voice from Launchpad’s phone shouted so loudly, all three boys could hear it.

“What did you do to my daughter?!

“Mrs. L?”

“I know it was you! What did you do to her?!”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. L,” Launchpad said, looking distressed. “What happened to Charity?”

The voice died done to a level where the boys knew someone was talking, but it was inaudible.

Launchpad’s eyes widened. “Where is she?” Pause. “I’m heading there now.” He stood up and rushed out the door.

The triplets exchanged looks before following their friend.

“Launchpad, what happened?” Dewey asked, running alongside the piolet.

“Charity was in an accident,” Launchpad said, looking more serious and determined than the boys had ever seen him. “She’s been taken to the hospital.”

“We’ll come with you,” Huey said.

“Uh…shouldn’t we tell Uncle Scrooge,” Louie suggested, for once taking a mature stand on the issue.

“You stay here and tell him,” Dewey said. “Launchpad cannot be stopped, and we’re going with him to Winding Wing.”

“No. Winding Wing doesn’t have a hospital,” Launchpad told them. “They’re bringing her to Ducksburg.”

“I’ll wake up Uncle Scrooge and meet you there,” Louie called, stopping at the threshold as the others burst out into the night air, heading toward the first vehicle that Launchpad could find, the limo.

“Buckle up, boys,” Launchpad said as they jumped in and he turned the key.

The warning was unnecessary. Anyone who had ridden with Launchpad did not neglect their seatbelts. The boys had even taken up the habit of keeping helmets in the limo as a secondary precaution.

Strangely enough, while that was the shortest ride they had experienced, Launchpad had navigated through the streets of Ducksburg without a scratch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters will be added by the end of the day. I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my story. I hope you like it.


	3. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duck family meets Charity.

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 3

_I was thirteen when I fell in love again. By that time, I had become a stigma at school with the reputation of being the fragile kid, the one that had to skip gym, who stayed indoors during recess, who couldn’t be on any sports team. Even the bullies were too afraid to pick on me, afraid to leave a bruise or a scrape that would suspend them or worse, get threats from my mom to call the cops._

_The bruises and cuts were bad enough, but loneliness was the hardest pain to bear._

_Until one day, a tall, gangly boy plopped down at my table at lunch. He had bright eyes, the biggest grin, and a large cast on his left arm. I didn’t know him, and I was sure he wasn’t even in my grade._

_“Is that lunchbox from the Darkwing Duck fan club catalog?”_

_“Uh…I don’t know. My mom bought it on ebird,” I answered, surprised that anyone was talking to me._

_“Whoa, whoever sold it was an idiot. Darkwing Duck merchandise is going to be priceless one day,” the boy said, pulling out of his backpack a lunchbox exactly like mine._

_I stared at it like he had pulled a rabbit out of his bag._

_The boy continued to talk the entire time, mostly about Darkwing Duck, but also about what happened in school, and about his dream to be a pilot. When he finished his food, he said, “Goodbye” and left to play outside._

_The next day, he returned, talked all through lunch, then left again. The same thing happened the next day and the next. After a week, I started looking forward to him sitting in front of me, rambling about his life and the masked hero as he ate his sandwich, apple, and cookies before leaving._

_It took me another week to finally ask his name._

_“Launchpad McQuack,” he said, reaching over to shake my hand._

_The name wasn’t unfamiliar. I had heard the name being thrown around the school with the reputation of being a goofball, a klutz, and a daredevil. Gossip was that he crashed his bicycle into the pricipal’s car, rode his skateboard through the school and ran into the school’s display, breaking a few trophies, and tried to jump off the school’s smokestack with a homemade parachute but the firefighters stopped him. It explained the cast on his arm._

_My mom would not be happy if I made friends with him._

_I took his hand anyway. “I’m Charity Loveatte.”_

_In the following months, Launchpad somehow coaxed me out of my shell, using Darkwing Duck to start discussions, debates, and imagined stories and adventures, although I kept my girlish fantasies to myself. Soon, he stopped leaving me on my own after lunch, even skipping recess to stay with me in the school’s library. All my old friends had drifted away because of my “disease,” but Launchpad didn’t seem to care that I couldn’t go outside and play. Even though he was an active person, he stayed with me anyway._

_Things didn’t change until the day that a group of girls ganged up on me. With my disease, I was immune to physical bullying, but it didn’t stop the name-calling and the gossiping. I don’t know what I did or what was bothering them that day, but the mean-girl squad targeted me. It started with the usual, but throughout the day, when I continued to ignore them, their tactics escalated to bumping me in the hall and pushes when the teacher wasn’t looking._

_Then school ended and the sharks began circling._

_“I think it’s all a lie,” I heard one girl say. “It’s so the teachers take pity on her.”_

_“I don’t see any bruises,” another said. “Maybe it’s to cover up that she’s a klutz.”_

_Someone grabbed my wrist, pushing back my feathers. “Come on. Show us these bruises you’re supposed to have.”_

_They pushed and pulled me, getting rougher and rougher, trying to create a bruise to form right there and then, laughing and taunting me. Whenever I tried to break through, they pulled me back in. Eventually, I collapsed in a ball and covered my head, hoping they would lose interest._

_“Get away from her!”_

_I recognized the voice, lifting my head in time to see Launchpad roll by on his skateboard, scattering the girls._

_“Get out of here. I don’t care if you’re girls, I’ll fight you anyway.”_

_The bullies ran away, squealing like they were five._

_And that was the moment that it happened. I never expected it because it wasn’t like the first time. But when Launchpad offered his hand out to me to help me up, I felt my heart speed up, my body grew warm, and blush rose under my feathers. When I took his hand, his touch was electric._

_And when I went home, I knew I couldn’t let mom know that it happened again. She couldn’t know about Launchpad._

_But she eventually found out when I broke my leg._

***

Huey and Dewey had been to a lot of places, but the hospital wasn’t one of them. Despite their adventures, none of them had been injured enough to be taken to the hospital. So when they entered the building with the strange sights and smells, their usually curious and bold natures were dampened by the strangeness of everything. Keeping close to Launchpad, they remained quiet.

“I’m looking for Charity Loveatte,” Launchpad told the front desk.

The elderly nurse looked up from her glasses, then down again, her expression blank. “Visiting hours are over, sir.”

“She should have come through the emergency room a few minutes ago.”

The nurse pointed with a pen. “Down the hall all the way to the end, then turn left. Ask the desk there.”

Launchpad sprinted down the hall, heedless of the boys scrambling to keep up. Skidding to a stop at the emergency desk, the tall duck pulled himself upright. “Charity Loveatte,” he said.

This time, the nurse was busy going through papers, shouting at someone on the phone, and typing at the computer at the same time. She held up a finger, indicating that he wait.

Launchpad bounced on his feet impatiently before looking around and spotting a set of swinging doors. He raced through them, ignoring the nurse’s shouts to stop.

Huey and Dewey followed, hoping that the piolet wasn’t going to get in trouble for his rashness.

“Charity! Charity! Where are you?” he shouted as his webbed feet pounded the cold tiles.

From a distance, a soft voice called out, “Launchpad?”  
“Charity.” Changing his trajectory, Launchpad turned down another hall, dodging doctors and patients. Before he made it to the room, a woman stepped out, arms folded and glaring so fiercely that it would have put Uncle Scrooge to shame.

Launchpad screeched to a halt before he ran into the woman.

“You are never to come near my daughter ever again,” she told him in a dangerous tone. “You’ve hurt her enough.”

“Mom!” the voice shouted from the room the woman blocked.

“Mrs. L, I don’t know why you’re saying these things. I would never hurt Charity,” Launchpad defended, his voice distressed.

“Mom, leave him alone,” Charity’s voice shouted. “He didn’t do anything.”

“That’s right,” Dewey said, skidding in front of Launchpad. “He didn’t hurt anyone. He has been with us all night.”

Huey stopped alongside his brother, more out of breath. “I…second…that.”

The formidable female looked taken aback by the presence of the children. She opened her beak as if to chew Launchpad out some more, but someone else spoke.

“Aimee, that’s enough. Let them come in.”

Mrs. Loveatte’s beak pressed a thin line, but she stepped away to allow entry.

Launchpad needed no other invitation to rush in. “Charity, are you okay?”

The young, female lovebird smiled brightly at the sight of Launchpad. “Yeah, I’m fine. Mom is over-reacting,” she said with a weak laugh. “It’s really not a big deal.”

A doctor covered in green feathers with cherry red cheeks was bending over Charity’s arm, using a thin, sharp needle to sew stitches. There was a wad of gauze and towels on the metal tray soaked in blood.

“That looks like a big deal to me,” Huey commented.

Charity frowned. “It’s not as much blood as you would think. Right, Dad?”

“Your mom got you here quick enough,” Dr. Loveatte replied, carefully pulling on the stitch he just set. “You only needed six stitches today.”

“Whoo-hoo,” Charity cheered sarcastically.

“What happened?” Launchpad asked again.

“Uh…I’m not sure. I must have cut myself on something,” Charity said uncertainly, looking to her father and then behind Launchpad where her mother stood. “I was asleep at the time.”

“You probably got caught on a nail. Sometimes with those old houses, nails can work themselves out,” Dr. Loveatte explained.

“But she was sleeping,” Huey countered.

“Charity sleep walks,” the doctor returned.

Huey’s eyebrows furrowed. “Sleep walking on top of her other conditions?”

Dewey looked to his brother. If he knew Huey at all, his brother thought something was amiss with this situation. “And why would that be Launchpad’s fault?” Dewey spoke up, looking angry for his friend’s sake.

“Please, forgive my wife. She sometimes acts hysterical when something happens to Charity,” Dr. Loveatte said kindly. “We are both concerned for her health.”

“All is forgiven,” Launchpad said, moving toward Charity and taking her hand. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I don’t even have to stay in the hospital this time,” Charity said. “Which is too bad since you know how much I _love_ hospital food.”

Lauchpad chuckled.

“There, all done.” Dr. Loveatte set the sutures and other instruments back on the metal tray after cutting the excess stitching. “Your mother and I will get you checked out and pick up some pills for the pain. Talk with your friends, and when we get back, you and your mother can go home.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Charity said, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Dr. Loveatte moved the metal try over to the counter near a sink, then left the room, taking Charity’s mother—and her glare—with him.

“You didn’t have to rush all the way here for me,” Charity told Launchpad. “And what are you doing with a couple of mini-ducks?”

“Oh, where are my manners? This is Huey and Dewey,” Launchpad said, presenting the kids.

“Wait. These are Mr. McDuck’s nephews?” Charity asked in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“The way you talk about them, I thought they would be older,” Charity said, curiously examining them. “But it’s very good to meet you, Dewey. I thought it was about time for Launchpad’s two best friends to finally meet.”

Dewey looked at her hand. “I’m not going to hurt you if I touch you, am I?”

A sad look crossed Charity’s face before she smiled. “I’m not that fragile.” They shook hands.

“I have so many questions,” Huey said as he gazed around the hospital room. “Can I look at your stitches? Did it hurt when he put them in? Is it cool to have a dad that’s a doctor? Why doesn’t he look like you? How many bones have you broken? What’s the most stitches you have ever gotten?”

“What was Launchpad like as a kid?” Dewey threw in just to be noticed.

“Wow,” Charity said, her eyes widening. “Okay, here goes. Yes. Kind of. Yes. He’s actually my step-dad. I don’t know. And twenty-three. As for Launchpad as a kid, he hasn’t changed since then, except now he’s a lot bigger.”

As Huey walked to the opposite of the bed to take a better look at the stitches, Dewey jumped onto the stool the doctor had sat on, spinning in it. “So, it really is true what Mrs. Beakley says. Launchpad is like a giant kid.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Launchpad said proudly.

“Only with a driver’s license,” Charity chipped in.

The boys laughed at that.

“You know, you don’t have to stay with me,” Charity said, looking at Launchpad. “If you want to dash out to avoid my mom, go ahead. She probably woke you up with that phone call.”

“Nope, we were having a movie marathon,” Dewey replied for Launchpad, pushing himself in the chair from one side of the room to another, the wheels of the stool squeaking.

“This late?” Charity asked.

Huey and Dewey shrugged.

“Lucky you,” Charity said, her eyes looking a bit droopy. “Even if I wanted to stay up, my body shuts down by ten and heads off to dream land.”

“Which is where I should be,” a gruff voice interrupted.

All heads turned to the doorway where Scrooge McDuck and Louie stood, the former leaning on his cane, the later looking wide-eyed at the bloody bandages.

“Mr. McD,” Launchpad said, standing up straighter. He then looked at Charity, then back at his employer, then back to Charity. “It looks like you got your birthday wish.”

Charity sat up, her eyes locked on Scrooge with an expression mixed with eagerness and fear.

The triplets coagulated, sensing that something big was going down.

“I heard you wanted to talk to me,” Scrooge said, approaching the hospital examination table.

“I-I-Yes, I did,” Charity stuttered, her voice weak. “I-I hope it isn’t an imposition.”

“At one o’clock in the morning, it is,” Scrooge mumbled, taking Dewey’s spot on the stool. “But so long as I’m here, talk.” It sounded like an order.

“Well…You see...” Charity looked down, then at Launchpad, and at Scrooge, her eyes looking more scared by the second. “I…need your help.”

“Aye, I’ve heard of your conditions,” Scrooge said with a nod. “And I’ve read your chart. Cushion’s syndrome. Brittle Bone disease. A weak immune system.” Scrooge’s face softened. “I’d love to help you, lassie, but I don’t see what I can do that modern medicine and doctors haven’t been able to do yet.”

“It’s not what you think,” Charity said, shaking her head. Her eyes glistened.

“I suspected as much,” Scrooge said. “I believe you have a lot of explaining to do. And I think you should start out with why you have a bullet wound in your arm.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity explains everything.

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 4

_After the cast came off my leg, I was only pain free for a few days before I broke three fingers on my right hand. A couple of months after that, I went into the hospital with chest pains. Three of my ribs had been cracked. That’s when the doctor noticed the bruises on my arms and legs. They were returning more and more frequently._

_Then my mom got a call from a social worker._

_By that time, she had remarried Glen, a doctor. My step-father’s career made it easier to explain away my injuries with a second diagnosis: A mild case of brittle bone disease._

_“What about all the days she missed school?” the social worker asked suspiciously. “You claim that she’s been sick a lot.”_

_My step-father had an answer for that, too. I also had a compromised immune system making me susceptible to illness. He even had documents showing the tests to back up his words._

_I didn’t remember ever going through those tests._

_But the social worker smiled, believing Glen because he was a doctor and had a nice smile. Confident that there wasn’t any child abuse happening in our house, she didn’t return._

_After that, my mother took me aside for a serious discussion. She said she was sorry she lied to me. I don’t have Cushion’s syndrome. And I don’t have brittle bone disease or a compromised immune system._

_I had suspected as much. By then, I suspected there was something different about our family, that there was something off, but I didn’t have a word for it._

_That’s when she told me about the family curse._

***

“I promise to tell you everything, but I need to show you something first,” Charity stated. She stood up and opened one of the drawers next to the sink.

“Why?” Scrooge asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m afraid you won’t believe me,” she replied, looking through the drawer, closing it, and opening another one.

Louie blew air forcefully through his beak. “Please. After what we’ve seen, what won’t we believe?”

“Launchpad, please come here,” Charity requested. When he stood in front of her, she took his hand. “I need you to trust me.”

“I do, Charity.”

“Then close your eyes and don’t open them until I say you can,” she said.

Launchpad obeyed.

From the open drawer, Charity pulled out a scalpel, the sharp edge glistening in the light of the halogen bulb.

The boys and Scrooge took notice, on edge.

“Wait a minute, lass. What are you going to do with that?” Scrooge asked, poised for action.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Charity said in a reassuring tone, her voice and countenance calm as she set the blade against Launchpad’s hand. “Launchpad, you’re going to feel a pinch, but that’s it.” She pushed the blade into his flesh, drawing a line across his palm.

“That’s enough!” Scrooge shouted, using his cane to deftly knock the scalpel away. The metal instrument landed on the floor. Drops of blood splattered beside it.

“Boys, get some gauze,” Scrooge ordered, snatching Launchpad’s hand away from Charity. But when he looked at the piolet’s hand, it was as white and pristine as it had moments before. “What? But I saw…” He looked to Charity.

The female lovebird was gripping her hand, putting pressure on a gash that was pouring blood. “I think you get the gist of it now,” she said with a sad smile.

The four ducks stared at her hand.

“No, that isn’t possible,” Huey said, staring with his beak wide open.

“Uh, could I have that gauze, please?” Charity requested.

Having forgotten that he grabbed some, Huey slowly handed the package, still gaping.

Charity ripped the plastic open with her beak and wrapped her hand in the white bandage quickly and messily. “Okay, Launchpad, you can open your eyes now.” She smiled and hid her bandaged hand behind her back.

“Whoa, that was weird. I heard you guys talking, and it sounded like something exciting was happening. Did something exciting happen?” Launchpad asked, clueless.

“A little,” Charity said, sitting back on the table. “Wow, I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I think I lost too much blood. Launchpad, there’s a vending machine in the front lobby. Do you think you could get me a drink and a snack?”

“Absolutely, Charity. You rest. I’ll be back.” Without any question, he waved as he left.

Charity waved back, but her smile disappeared once her friend was gone. “Launchpad doesn’t know about any of this, and I would be grateful if nobody told him anything he didn’t need to.”

“That was amazing!” Dewey shouted, jumping up and down. “Are you some sort of sorcerer? Do you have healing power? If I stabbed myself in the heart, could you heal me?”

“Please don’t,” Charity said, looking afraid. “It only works with Launchpad.”

“Why Launchpad?” Huey asked, tilting his head.

Charity looked down, fiddling with her bandage. “It’s because I’m in love with him. Or at least, the curse made me fall in love with him. I’m altogether unsure how much of it is real and how much of it is magic.”

“Okay, lass. You have my attention. Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Scrooge said, sitting back down on the stool.

Taking a deep breath, Charity began, her voice turning melodic as one who is telling a bedtime story. “The curse has been in my family for thousands of years. A long, long time ago, there once was two sisters, a black swan and a white swan. They loved each other very much and were inseparable. And although they looked very much alike, the white swan received more attention and admirers than her sister.”

“Just because her feathers were a different color?” Huey asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.” He said this out of experience. Being one triplet, getting enough attention was often a chore and a competition.

Scrooge leaned forward on his cane. “Oh, that was quite common in those old days. People of ancient cultures were very superstitious. A bird with all black feathers was sometimes considered an ill-omen. The same was true for other color mutations, birth marks and physical defects.”  
“Exactly,” Charity said with a nod, then returned to her story. “The black sister was often ignored and shunned because of the color of her feathers while her sister grew prideful of her beauty. Despite this, both sisters loved each other more than anyone else.

“Then one day, they were captured by an evil bandit and taken to his hideout. When he saw the beautiful sisters, he decided to marry both of them.”

“Ewwww,” the triplets said.

“Again, that wasn’t uncommon in the old days,” Scrooge berated his nephew’s immaturity. “Although, for the life of me, who would want more than one woman in their life is beyond me.”

The boys snickered, knowing who Scrooge was thinking of.

“Before the bandit could force his will on the sisters, a dashing hero came to their rescue and slayed the bandit. Both of the sisters immediately fell in love with the hero, and for the first time in their lives, they fought over something.

“Because she believed she couldn’t win the heart of the hero, the black swan stopped fighting first, stepping aside so her sister could be with the hero. But the hero saw that the white sister was prideful and that the black sister was humble and kind. In the end, he fell in love with the black sister, and they were married.

“The white swan had never been rejected before, and instead of being happy for her sister, she let darkness take over her heart. Back then, everyone knew about magic and anyone could do a little if they learned. Both the swans were adept sorceresses, but when the white sister’s heart turned evil, she grew in power as the darkness taught her forbidden spells.

“Once she had accumulated enough power, she attacked her sister and the hero and captured them. Her intention was not to kill them; she wanted the black swan to give up her love for the hero so that he would love her instead. She thought love was something that could be dropped at a whim and picked up by someone else like a coin. But the black swan couldn’t give up her love.

“With a plan to get her sister to hate her husband and break their love, she cast a spell on the lovers that whatever pain or injury that the hero would be inflicted with would transfer to his wife who would suffer everything. For days and nights, the white swan tortured the hero, who shed no blood, whose body remained whole while the black swan felt every cut and blow her husband took.

“The hero pleaded for his wife to hate him, to stop loving him. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer, to hear her cries of pain, but the black swan wouldn’t. She bore the pain bravely, glad to keep her husband from suffering.

“Each passing day, the white swan grew angrier and angrier that her sister refused to stop loving the hero until one day, her anger overcame her and she cut the hero too deeply. The spell she cast was powerful, but not strong enough to transfer death. The black swan felt the fatal blow, but once life left her husband, so did his pain.

“Her grief gave her power, and the black swan summoned all of her magic and lashed out at her sister. She wasn’t powerful enough to kill her, so she trapped her where she couldn’t hurt anyone again. The spell took so much of her energy that she couldn’t do magic again.

“Not long after she laid an egg. The daughter that hatched was the splitting image of her belated father. Years passed before the black swan learned that the spell her sister had used had dark consequences because she had been pregnant when it had been cast. Her daughter was saved by a heroic man and fell immediately in love with him. From that moment on, any injuries the man should have accumulated fell on the daughter’s body.”

Charity stopped talking after that, the ending of the story coming up flat as if there should be more. Her face looked hollow as if she had been crying.

The triplets shifted where they stood. Charity had told the story in such a captivating way that it would have been easy to believe it was just a fairy tale, something that Donald had read to them when they were younger. They had expected there to be a happy ending, but if there was, Charity wouldn’t be sitting on the hospital examination table with a bullet hole in her arm and a bloody bandage on her hand.

“And Launchpad is your hero, I take it,” Scrooge said gently.

“Yes. I was being bullied at school, and the minute he saved me, I feel deeply in love with him. Before that, he was my friend and I did care for him, but when the curse took over, my feelings changed,” Charity said, touching her heart.

Scrooge rubbed his forehead. It was way too late for this kind of thing. “I believe you; the trick with the scalpel and hand is convincing, but I’m still not completely convinced about this curse. Are you telling me that any injuries that Launchpad would get—”

“I feel it all for him,” Charity interrupted. “All of it.”

“You can’t blame me for being a bit skeptical. I’ve seen a lot of magic, but I’ve not heard of a curse anything like this.”

“In all the time that Launchpad has worked for you, didn’t it seem odd that he’s never gotten hurt?” Charity asked him.

Scrooge scratched his head. “Uh…not really?”

“After all the crashes he’s been in, all the adventures you’ve gone on, it didn’t seem odd that he’s never broken a bone, never got a bruise or a cut or anything?” Charity asked expectantly.

“He-he’s Launchpad. He’s always been…like that,” Scrooge said, his voice lowering as he thought things through.

“And I bet he’s never taken a sick day off, am I right?” Charity said, her smugness dimmed by her sadness.

“Not even that time when we returned from Africa, and we all caught jungle fever,” Huey said.

The four ducks sat in silence, reviewing their past and trying to find anything that would counter Charity’s words.

Charity fingered her bandage, smiling sadly. “I made up a game. Every time I got a new bruise or cut or broken bone, I tried to guess what new adventure Launchpad had gotten into. And when he came to visit, he would regal me with all the details. Sometimes I would guess correctly, sometimes I would be completely surprised.”

“You poor thing,” Louie said, sympathy over-coming even him. “Imagine that it had to be Launchpad of all people.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Huey asked. “If Launchpad knew he was causing you pain, I’m certain he would be more careful.”

Charity shook her head slowly. “I couldn’t. If I told him, it would…change him. It would break him. He’s so happy and carefree. I was afraid if I told him…he would…hate me.” Her calm demeanor broke, tears falling in fat drops and sobs trembling in her chest.

The boys took a step back. Something about seeing a grown-up cry was disconcerting. But Scrooge on the other hand seemed to have some understanding about crying women. He pulled out a handkerchief and put it in Charity’s hand.

“Alright, lass. It’s going to be okay. We understand. Launchpad, while a bit absentminded, has a good heart,” Scrooge said. “Calm down. Any friend of Launchpad’s will be well taken care of. But I don’t see how I can help. And not to mention, I don’t recall anyone shooting at Launchpad tonight, unless he and the boys were up to something more than alien movies.”

Huey, Dewey and Louie shook their heads solemnly.

“Well, that’s where things get complicated,” Charity said, looking embarrassed. “You see, Launchpad isn’t the only one I’m connected to.”

Scrooge’s eyes widened. “I see.”

“Excuse me. Who are you and what are you doing here?” Mrs. Loveatte stood in the doorway, looking madder than a Beagle Boy and determined enough to take out a whole gang of them.

Dr. Loveatte was a step behind her, looking concerned by the extra people in his step-daughter’s room.

“Ah, you must be Charity’s family,” Scrooge said, tipping his hat and extending his hand.

Mrs. Loveatte glared at the offered welcome.

“Ah…I understand how protective you are of your daughter. She’s briefed me on the circumstances of her situation and as requested my services to help,” Scrooge said professionally.

“My husband is her doctor. We don’t need any more doctors,” Mrs. Loveatte snapped.

“My dear, I’m not a doctor.”

“I’m not your dear.”

“Mom, don’t you know who this is. He’s Scrooge McDuck,” Charity said, her voice warning her mother to behave.

The surprise at having such a famous duck stand before her dampened Mrs. Loveatte’s glower but only just so. “I don’t see how you can help. Please, see yourself out, Mr. McDuck,” she said icily.

“Mom, he’s the world’s foremost expert on magic. He’s been on more expeditions than anyone else. He probably has more magical items in his basement than the rest of the world has in museums combined,” Charity protested.

Scrooge nodded his head proudly. “True.”

Mrs. Loveatte’s eyes widened. “You told him!”

“I had to,” Charity said, her voice rising. “Our family can’t live like this anymore. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t live with the pain.”

“I told you to keep that boy away. If he would stay away, you might forget about him.”

“Stop blaming Launchpad!” Charity shouted, tears refreshing. “He’s the only one that makes me forget about the curse. I need him in my life. And if I can find a way to break the curse, then I can finally have a normal life.”

Mrs. Loveatte’s eyes softened, and she shook her head. “Sweetheart, I understand what you are going through. But you haven’t thought things through. Did you ever think about your Nana? What’s going to happen to her if you do?”

Charity shook her head. “It was Nana who gave me the idea. Mom, I know you don’t want Nana to be in pain, but did you ever think about Grandpa. Don’t you think he deserves to have the pain taken away, too?”

“Grandpa wouldn’t want that,” Mrs. Loveatte said. “It would break his heart to see Nana in that much pain.”

“And it’s breaking Nana’s heart that he has to bear her pain,” Charity shot back. “It’s what she wants, and it’s what I want. Please, let me go.”

A silence filled the room. Which was the perfect moment for Launchpad to return.

“Hey, I got you orange juice, Charity. They were out of cranberry,” he called out. Noticing the solemn pallor on everyone’s faces, he asked, “What did I miss?”

“Come on, boys. Launchpad. We’re all going home and going to bed,” Scrooge said. He turned to Mrs. Loveatte. “And Charity is coming with us. She’s a grown woman, and she’s made her choice.” He turned his head. “Come on, lass.”

Charity hopped off the bed and followed, keeping her head down so she couldn’t look at her mother. Before she left the room, her step-father pressed a bag into her hands.

“Here’s your prescription,” Dr. Loveatte said gently. “And don’t worry about your mother. I’ll talk to her.”

Charity smiled, kissed his cheek and followed after the ducks, slipping her hand into Launchpad’s.

In the parking lot, Louie shouted, “I call riding with Charity and Launchpad.” He pushed the pilot over to the limo, which had been parked askew, half in two parking spaces, the other half in a handicap spot. “You guys ride with Uncle Scrooge.”

Used to their brother’s weird antics, Huey and Dewey shrugged and followed their uncle to the other car.

“Do the boys always fight for a chance to ride with you, Launchpad?” Charity asked as she buckled up in the passenger front seat.

“Nope, this is a first,” Launchpad said, turning the key and shifting the car in gear.

“So, it turns out that Uncle Scrooge is actually a scarier driver than you are, Launchpad,” Louie said, putting on his helmet. “I thought that my brothers should experience it for themselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of my bulk chapter submission. From now on, a chapter will be posted every Tuesday. I hope that you are enjoying this story. See you Feb. 23rd.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity and Mrs. Beakley have a talk.

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 5

_My world stopped the day Darkwing Duck died. Or, at least, that’s what the news said._

_My mom and I watched it on TV as an anchorman reported an accident at a movie studio that involved several actors including Jim Starling. I had already been warned that he was in trouble as bruises, cuts and burns appeared on my arms and legs, but the pain was nothing compared to the dread pouring through my heart. I cared not for my own well-being. All my thoughts and prayers were for Jim Starling, no, for Darkwing Duck to survive._

_“We are sad to report that we have received news that the actor, Jim Starling, is dead,” the anchorman said over the sounds of fire trucks and water gushing over the flames._

_My mother turned off the TV. “Well, it’s unfortunate that that poor man had died, but perhaps it’s for the best. One less thing to worry about.”_

_I had told Mom years ago about my childhood crush on Darkwing Duck, in which case she took a personal stand against him. By then, my devotion to the fictional character had deepened, especially with Launchpad feeding my inner nerd. I don’t think she realized how much the news of his death really hit me. It wasn’t a relief, but a hole ripped in my heart._

_Yet, not long after watching the news, I knew that my first love wasn’t dead. My knee throbbed with a popping, creaking ache that I was familiar with. I thought of that aching knee as a constant memory of Jim. And it hadn’t disappeared as it should._

_Jim Starling was still alive. But it baffled me why nobody corrected this error. Why did Jim Starling not show himself? Seeing the futility in trying to figure out the mind of the actor, I kept this information to myself, satisfied in knowing that he was alive and well._

_Not long after, the moon invaded. Many heroes stepped up in Earth’s time of need including a duck dressed in dark colors. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched the news, seeing the familiar cape and hat that I had known for so long. My heart raced as I thought it was Jim back. It must be; he was waiting this whole time to be a real hero, to bring back Darkwing Duck._

_But after watching footage of this Darkwing, I could see the differences. The costume, the shape of his bill, his mannerisms, his voice. It was not Jim._

_The news soon reported that this Darkwing Duck had moved to St. Canard, fighting crime in the city by the bay. The children who grew up with the old show crawled out of the woodworks of the Internet, new fans jumping on the bandwagon. The web was ablaze with information on the new crime-fighter, and I soaked it all up._

_I don’t know how the curse worked because there wasn’t an exact moment that I could pinpoint when I fell in love again. I think it must have been a gradual integration into the curse, but I knew for sure that I was connected to a third person while watching a stolen copy of the unfinished Darkwing Duck movie—which Launchpad took from his employer just for me._

_We were watching it late at night when my face suddenly exploded with pain. I had experienced a lot of injuries, but I had never felt someone hitting me in the eye before. Launchpad may have been crash-prone, but he never got into fights._

_Since Launchpad was with me during the movie, I knew he wasn’t the cause of the pain. I thought it was Jim for the longest time until I noticed a pattern in the injuries I received late at night. It was then I realized that my love for Darkwing Duck had transferred to this new person, whoever he was. I had been in denial for the longest time, rationalizing that my heart racing whenever I thought of him or learned something new about him on the Internet, it was because I was a fan._

_But I quickly accepted that I had fallen in love for a third time. At first, I was angry, but the more I learned about the people that Darkwing Duck 2.0 saved, the more I was glad. It was like I was helping him fight crime and save others. And it made me love him more._

_After that, I learned really quickly how to hide a black eye with make-up._

***

Mrs. Beakley navigated the winding road toward the McDuck mansion, humming to herself. It was nice to get out once in a while and spend some time with Webbigail. And although she and Della had a difference in opinions—as well as other things—girl bonding was beneficial to the female duck’s road to acting more like a responsible mother.

“I can’t believe we actually got to see Poseidon,” Webby shouted from the back seat. “The boys are going to be so jealous. Do you think this pearl necklace is cursed?”

As Webby examined her jewelry, Della relaxed in the front passenger seat. “Yup, there’s nothin’ more relaxing than fighting giant monsters and beating a Greek god in fair and noble combat. Although, I do feel a little guilty about making him cry.”

“He’s a god. A little humility never hurt anyone,” Mrs. Beakley said sagely.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone how awesome our Girl’s-Day-Out was,” Webby said, bouncing in the back seat. “Are we almost home?”

“Don’t be too excited, Webs,” Della said, looking back at the young girl. “Scrooge was talking about taking them to some desert for a treasure hunting expedition. I doubt they’ll be home yet.”

“Oh,” Webby said, looking disappointed.

Mrs. Beakley smiled knowingly. “Oh, I doubt they’ve even left. They can’t go without Launchpad.”

Della folded her arms at the mention of the other piolet. “Why? What happened to him?”

“Wednesdays are Launchpad’s day off,” Mrs. Beakley said.

“That never stopped Uncle Scrooge. We’ve gone on adventures on Wednesdays before. Last week, we fought a demon,” Webby added.

“Yes, and the week before and the week before,” Mrs. Beakley said with a sigh. “Poor Launchpad. He just can’t say ‘no’ to Scrooge. I gave him a pep talk before I left, so there’s a chance that the boys are still home.”

Della and Webby exchanged looks. They agreed that it was doubtful.

Yet after they pulled into the driveway and entered the mansion, it wasn’t just the ghost of Ducksworth greeting them at the door.

“Hey, Mom!” Dewey shouted, jumping into her arms.

Huey and Louie, less enthusiastically, hugged her legs.

“Hey, boys. I thought you’d be in some desert, using some magical sword to solve puzzles and find buried treasure,” Della said, kissing each of their foreheads.

“Yeah, we were, but something else came up,” Louie said nonchalantly.

Mrs. Beakley smiled, nodding her head in congratulations for giving Launchpad that pep-talk.

Webby looked smug. “It couldn’t have been more exciting than our Girl’s-Day-Out.”

Dewey spoke first. “Launchpad has a secret girlfriend.”

“That’s nothing. We fought not one, but two—What?!” Webby interrupted her own gloating.

“Yeah. And apparently her family has been cursed for hundreds of generations. It’s pretty intense,” Huey added. “Uncle Scrooge wants all hands on deck for this one. It sounds like a toughie.”

“It’s sick. Charity has a bullet wound but didn’t get shot. Oh, and she did this thing where she cut Launchpad’s hand but he didn’t get hurt. It’s kind of cool,” Louie said.

“Uh…We also met Poseidon,” Webby said, feeling as if her victory wasn’t as sweet.

“Who’s Charity?” Della asked, throwing her suitcase in the corner for Duckworth to carry up to her room.

“She’s Launchpad’s girlfriend,” Dewey replied.

“Technically, they aren’t girlfriend/boyfriend. She’s a friend of his who is a girl,” Huey clarified.

“She’s totally his girlfriend,” Louie said with a smirk.

Mrs. Beckley sighed. “It sounds like we need to talk to Mr. McDuck and get things clarified.”

They followed the triplets to the dining room where Uncle Scrooge sat at the table sipping tea with Donald next him buttering a slice of toast.

“Where’s Charity?” Dewey asked, looking around.

“Still a sleep,” Uncle Scrooge said, putting his cup back on its saucer. “She needs the rest after what she’s gone through.”

The boys frowned and Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow, all thinking the same thing. Uncle Scrooge wouldn’t let _them_ sleep this late.

“What about Launchpad? Are we really going to keep this a secret from him?” Huey asked, hopping into a seat.

“I’ve already talked to him,” Scrooge said. “It’s just not realistic to keep it a secret from him.”

“But Charity said—“ Dewey began.

“I didn’t tell him everything,” Scrooge interrupted. “I just told him enough for him to help his friend. He’s off shopping for some things for her. Girls like her probably need…eh…new clothes and…shampoo?”

Mrs. Beakley chuckled. “That’s quite perceptive of you, Mr. McDuck.”

Scrooge waved off the comment. “Before we go further, let’s get everyone up to speed, shall we?”

Once Scrooge retold the story of the curse and what he and the boys saw at the hospital, the rest of the group sat in silence as they took in the information.

Donald sniffed. “That poor girl.”

“Indeed,” Mrs. Beakley said, looking concerned. “That is some curse. I’ve never heard of something that powerful outside of Magica de Spell.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Scrooge agreed. “But we’ve broken curses before, although without knowing the origin of the magic or the words of the spell, I’m not certain where to start. Webby, have you or your friends heard of anything like this?”

After thinking hard for a second, she shook her head. “I’ve read about curses and love spells, but nothing like this. Although that story does sound familiar, but I don’t know where.”

“Hmmm, that should be our main priority,” Scrooge stated. “You and Huey get on researching. Track down that legend. If we know where it came from, we might be able to find out how to break the curse.”

Both Webby and Huey saluted, accepting their mission.

“Other than that, I’m actually at a loss what else we can do,” Uncle Scrooge said, looking weary. “I was up almost the entire night, trying to come up with a better plan than that.”

“If I may suggest, perhaps we could track down this other young man that Miss Charity mentioned. If she received a bullet wound because of him, it would stand to reason that he is either in danger or works in a hazardous environment,” Mrs. Beakley spoke up.

Scrooge smiled. “That is a grand idea, Mrs. Beakley. If we could keep him and Launchpad safe…er…relatively safer, it would be beneficial to her health. I will leave it up to you to find out the lad’s name. You’re a girl. Chat with her. Get her in your confidence. And when you find out who it is, hunt him down and bring him here.”

Mrs. Beakley frowned at the assignment. “Very tactful, Scrooge. What about Della? She’s a girl, too, which means she should be able to get the information from Charity easily.”

“Yeah, I could pound it out of her,” Della said, looking happy.

Mrs. Beakley sighed. “Fair point. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’d like to help,” Donald spoke up, raising his hand. “I’ll help Mrs. Beakley bring that guy here and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

“Thank you, Donald. I’m sure Agent 22 will be glad to have a partner.”

Mrs. Beakley smirked, enjoying the joke. Having worked with the both of them, she found Donald a more willing partner than his stubborn uncle.

“What can I do, Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey asked, jumping up and down.

“You and Louie distract Launchpad while Mrs. Beakley gives Charity the third degree,” Scrooge said. “Launchpad only knows that Charity is under a very serious curse, but he doesn’t know the specifics nor that he is part of the curse. We need to keep it that way. Oh, and boys, make sure he doesn’t do anything that could hurt himself. That means no crashes.”

Louie looked at his blue-clad brother. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

“As for me,” Scrooge continued, looking grumpy, “since my trip has been unfortunately canceled…I’ll be going to the office today. I’ll ask Ms. Quackfaster if there’s anything in the journals that could help.”

As if that ended the meeting, he sipped the last of his tea and left the room.

“Alright, no job for me,” Della said with a big grin, kicking her feet up onto the table and leaning back. “Looks like I get a lazy day.”

“Oh, and Della. You’re on laundry duty,” Scrooge shouted from the other room.

Della sagged. “Uhhh, I hate laundry duty.”

***

When Charity stepped out of her room, she had no idea where she was going. Launchpad had knocked earlier and dropped off some things including a change of clothes and toiletries, but he didn’t stick around to help her navigate the labyrinth that was the McDuck Mansion.

It astounded her that she had woken up in a large, lavish bed instead of her own room. Could this really be happening? Was this the first step to breaking her curse? At that moment, she didn’t care. This was the coolest thing ever.

Taking her time, she wandered the halls, peeking into rooms as long as they weren’t locked or if she could hear anything behind them. It wasn’t the polite thing for a guest to do, but she was tired of playing things safe. Besides, when would she get a chance to look around the home of the famous Mr. McDuck?

However, after taking a long good look at a room that was teaming in antiquity, she turned around and ran into a large—not to mention sturdy—elderly woman in an apron.

“Miss Loveatte, I presume,” the woman said with a scholarly British accent.

“Huh? Oh, I wasn’t doing anything…wrong. I just wanted to look,” Charity explained, embarrassment shivering over her. “It’s just…sorry?” She smiled timidly.

“I suggest you not do it again,” the woman said, closing the door. “Mr. McDuck has dangerous items stored everywhere.”

“And yet he’s allowed to raise children. Go figure,” Charity said under her breath.

The woman raised an eyebrow. Did she hear that?

“My name is Mrs. Beakley. I’m the housekeeper. Mr. McDuck has asked me to escort you to breakfast. Please, follow me, Miss Loveatte.”

Charity walked beside Mrs. Beakley instead of behind. A sign of bad-manners in some places, but it spoke of her kindness to want to talk face to face. “Please, call me Charity. If there’s anything I should be able to control, it’s how to address me.”

Mrs. Beakley smiled. The girl looked like a homeless waif with her large, hollow eyes and thin frame. The girl could use a little meat on her bones, and Mrs. Beakley would make sure it would stick if Charity stayed long enough. But underneath, she sensed a spark in the girl. She had to have some spunk to still smile after all she had been through.

“Is there anything you would like for breakfast, Charity?” Mrs. Beakley asked, opening the door to the dining room. “We have a house full of hungry boys, so our larders are always stocked.”

“Then you can show me the kitchen, and I’ll make my own breakfast,” Charity said, refusing to enter the dining room.

Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow but couldn’t stop the smile growing. “Oh, I think I’m going to like you.”

“What’s not to like?” Charity asked with a shrug.

“This way,” Mrs. Beakley said, closing the door and heading for the kitchen. “I must say, you’re not what I expected.”

“And you’re just as I expected,” Charity replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Launchpad talks about you a lot. He even showed me the video you guys made,” Charity said, grinning.

Mrs. Beakley hid her face. “Oh, you saw that? I should have known that any friend of Launchpad would be a Darkwing Duck fan.”

“Why Mrs. Beakley, you make it sound like he’s obsessed or something,” Charity said so innocently. “But I did love the video. I helped Launchpad write the script. It made me very happy to watch it. You make a very interesting Darkwing Duck. It kind of reminded me of the Scarlet Pimperduck.”

“Oh, I love that book,” Mrs. Beakley said, opening the door to the kitchen. As Charity went inside, she couldn’t help thinking gaining Charity’s confidences was going to be easier than she thought.

As Charity made some warm oatmeal—on the stove and not in the microwave, which Mrs. Beakley noticed—some toast and grabbed a banana, they talked about the similarities between Darkwing Duck and the mentioned book, and then moved onto other books they had read. Charity, for being so young, had read a large amount of classical literature, which the housekeeper vastly appreciated.

“Would you like some coffee?” Mrs. Beakley said, pointing to the coffee maker. Scrooge hated the thing, but both Launchpad and Donald sucked down the stuff every morning.

“No thanks. I have enough butterflies in my stomach as it is since telling everyone about the…I’m assuming Mr. McDuck told you about my…condition?” Charity asked hedging.

So, it was down to business now. Funny how it was Charity to breach the subject. “Yes, he did,” Mrs. Beakley confirmed. “And I’ve been told to give you, as Scrooge has put it, the third degree.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite thing to do before breakfast,” Charity said sarcastically. She glanced at the clock on the wall. The hour hand had left the number twelve long ago. “Is it really that late? Well, I guess breakfast is over, so I really don’t have any excuses.”

They returned to the dining room and sat across from each other. Mrs. Beakley, while Charity prepared her breakfast, had quickly made a cup of tea, adding some biscuits on another tray.

After taking a sip, Mrs. Beakley took a deep breath before beginning. “I know this may be embarrassing for you, but I need to know about the…other man in your life.” She tried to add humor to her voice to make it easier for Charity.

“Ho boy. This is worse than having ‘the talk’ with my mom,” Charity sighed. “First, can we agree that this is a no judgement zone.” She made a box with her hands to indicate the entire room was secure.

“My dear, it may be hard to imagine, but I was also young. I’ve fallen in love several times, so I think the ‘no judgement zone’ is a given.” She gestured for Charity to continue.

Taking a deep breath, Charity closed her eyes and said, “Jim Starling.”

“I should have guessed. The actor who plays Darkwing Duck.”

“Yeah.” Charity tried to cover up her embarrassment by filling her mouth with food.

“Well, that can’t be possible. Jim Starling is dead,” Mrs. Beakley said.

“No, he’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Magic.” Charity said it humorously, and it took Mrs. Beakley a few seconds to realize that she was serious.

“You mean…”

“In episode fifteen of Darkwing Duck, the usual stuntman was late. Jim Starling decided to try the stunt himself since a storm was coming, and he didn’t want to wait. He ended up injuring his knee and needing surgery on it.”

“Did you…”

“No, I fell in love with him after the surgery. But I can always tell when it’s going to rain,” Charity said, rubbing her knee. “He isn’t dead.”

“Oh, my. Well, that does present a problem. Since we didn’t know he was still alive, it is going to take some time tracking him down. I don’t suppose your…um…curse can tell us where he is?” Mrs. Beakley asked hopefully.

Charity shrugged. “Sorry. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Well, where ever he is, he certainly has some explaining to do. What would a man like that be doing around guns?”

Charity’s hand went to the stitches on her arm. “Yeah, and I guess that’s another secret I have to give up.”

“What is it?” Mrs. Beakley asked, sensing that the other shoe was going to drop.

“The bullet wound isn’t from Jim. There’s…someone else.”

“What? Oh!” Three boys. This girl certainly fell in love easily. “Who is it?”

“Darkwing Duck.”

“But you already sai—“

“No, not Jim. _Darkwing Duck_ ,” Charity emphasized. “I think the curse somehow made the connection between Jim and this new Darkwing, and zap, hello new crush. Darkwing Duck has always been a hero to me, and at first, I always associated it with Starling, but after I heard about a real-life Darkwing Duck risking his life to help people, I guess the idea of a real hero sounded just as good as a fictional one. It felt different than with Jim and Launchpad, but I can tell that he’s connected.”

“You keep using that word. ‘Connected.’ What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s not just that I feel their pain and take on their injuries and sicknesses. I also…experience feelings when I think of them or see pictures of them. You know, sweaty palms, blushes, nervousness, rapid heartbeat. I feel giddy but at the same time anxious. Everything that simulates being in love.”

Mrs. Beakley listened with understanding. She understood those feelings, and felt protective of this young woman just as she did for her family and friends. Those sensations of falling in love with someone shouldn’t be simulated. They should be real for when she actually meets someone who she could love and love her in return. What a terrible curse that only gave this girl pain and agony and unrequited love.

Charity concentrated on her oatmeal, looking remiss about everything she said.

“Well, it looks like you’ve given me quite the challenge,” Mrs. Beakley said, putting on a cheerful smile. “Luckily, we know exactly how to contact Darkwing Duck. As for Jim Starling, that’s going to be difficult. But Mr. McDuck has the resources to track him down.”

“Why?”

“To bring them here,” Mrs. Beakley answered. “Scrooge thinks that if we are to break the curse, we need to have all of your…gentlemen in attendance.”

Charity dropped her spoon, her eyes wide. She gulped. “You mean…Jim and…Darkwing Duck are…going to come here. I’ll get to meet them.”

Mrs. Beakley saw firsthand the “simulated” feelings that Charity experienced. The girl looked like a teenager waiting for her first date, excited and scared at the same time. “It’ll take time. Don’t worry. You’ll have time to adjust to the idea.”

The housekeeper finished her tea and stood up.

“Wait,” Charity called, standing up too. “You haven’t forgotten the ‘no judgement box’.” She made another invisible box with her hands.

“Yes, I think that idea was quite clear,” Mrs. Beakley said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. Nobody is going to tease you. And I must say, you could have done worse than this set of men. All are quite handsome, and I understand why you fell for them.”

“It’s not that,” Charity said, biting her lower bill. “There’s another one.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity meets the rest of the Duck family.

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 6

_A couple of weeks ago, I stole my mother’s car. Well, technically it wasn’t stealing since I am on their insurance, and she left the keys were I could find them, but it felt more exciting to think I was stealing it. Yes, I’m so immature._

_Perhaps it was that Darkwing had a bad night or maybe I was suffering from the after-effects of Launchpad’s latest concussion, but I had to get out of the house. My mother and the curse were driving me crazy. So I went for a drive._

_I think because we’re so used to pretending I have a medical condition, Mom forgets that I’m not actually sick, that I’m not fragile. Yes, I’m in pain, and most of the time I have a cast or a sickness or something that I need to heal from, but that doesn’t mean I have to live my life as a shut in. And perhaps if I tried harder, I could have convinced her that I would be okay leaving the house once in a while._

_But I didn’t tell her. Instead, I sneaked around like a teenager and took my mom’s car to Ducksburg. Technically, I didn’t own a driver’s license, but Launchpad taught me how to drive, and I just improved on that._

_It’s hard to describe the thrill of just being on your own for the first time. I felt free. I could do whatever I wanted, pretend that there wasn’t a curse for just a few hours._

_According to my mother, Ducksburg was falling through the cracks. It wasn’t the city it used to be, getting more and more dangerous with the Beagle Boys gang growing, magic shadows showing up, super-powered men wrecking buildings, and aliens invading. But as I walked down the sidewalk, doing some window shopping, it was heaven to me._

_I thought that after the big moon invasion, surely Ducksburg was due for some peace. Wasn’t it?_

_No, it wasn’t. That day, it was attacked by a giant monster for who knows what reason._

_As panic filled the streets, I froze in place, not knowing what to do. Should I run? Where? Before I could react, the creature lumber over the building I huddled against, knocking a hole in the roof. Chunks of concrete and bricks rained down, and I covered my head and waited for doom to break open my head like an egg._

_“Miss, are you alright?” a deep, strong voice asked, tugging at my heart._

_Noticing I wasn’t dead, I slowly looked up into the face of a mechanical man holding up the debris that had threatened my life. Of course, I answered with an eloquent squeak, unable to say more than that, my heart racing._

_He dropped the debris like it was nothing before helping me to my feet. “Miss, you should take cover.” Without another word, he zoomed away, no doubt to save another damsel in distress, unknowing what he had done to me._

_As my heart pounded in that familiar way, as it had three times before, I felt a swelling in my chest that I couldn’t fight. I gritted my teeth and hit the wall behind me._

_“Not again.”_

_***_

Mrs. Beakley’s face twisted in shock when she heard the final name. _Well, at least that one wears a suit of armor when he does something dangerous, for Charity’s sake._

Charity sank down in her chair, covering her face with her hands. “I know. I know,” she said softly.

“I understand that the curse centers around a hero theme,” Mrs. Beackley said, “but you certainly took it up a notch.”

“I’m not the type of girl who settles,” Charity said with a wry smile.

_At least she’s not moping around about her situation,_ Mrs. Beakley thought. “Now, before I start making plans, are you sure there’s only four of them.”

“Yep, that’s all of them. I’ll let you know if anything changes,” Charity said.

Mrs. Beakley replied, “Scrooge doesn’t have any heroes locked away in his the closets, at least none that I know of, so I think you’ll be safe for now.” The ex-spy left the dining room, taking her cell phone out of her pocket and pressing her first speed dial.

“Mr. McDuck,” she said when the call was picked up. “I’m heading over to the bin. Things are a little more complicated than we realized.”

***

After eating, Charity somehow managed to find her way back to the kitchen without getting lost—at least, more than once—washed her dishes and returned to the dining room. After Mrs. Beakley’s warning not to snoop, she wasn’t sure what she should do. She had assumed that Mrs. Beakley would return to give her further instructions or something, but after fifteen minutes of waiting around, she ventured beyond the known part of the manor.

“Hello. Is anyone here?” she called as she walked the halls, careful not to touch anything although her curiosity was bubbling over.

By accident, she found the foyer and the front door, somehow neglecting to notice the ghost poking his head through a wall to see who was leaving. Outside, she looked left, then right and determined that the grounds must be normal enough that she wouldn’t endanger herself walking around.

Strolling around the perimeter, Charity didn’t get far before she heard voices. Glad that she wasn’t entirely abandoned in the richest duck in the world’s home, she turned the corner to the back of the mansion, revealing a large pool with a rickety fishing boat floating in the water. Nearby on the cement patio, Launchpad, two of the three triplets, and two other ducks she didn’t know were bending over a wooden tub filled with suds. A line of twine stretched from the mansion to the boat where several articles of clothing swung in the breeze.

“You know they have machines that can do that for you,” Charity said as she walked up behind them.

“Charity!” Launchpad rushed over to her and gave her a soapy, wet hug.

The lovebird hugged him back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were under a curse?” Launchpad asked out of the blue.

Charity’s muscles locked tight. “What? How did you know?”

“Mr. McD told me. Imagine, my best friend cursed and I never knew.”

Charity gulped. “He told you.”

Dewey jumped in. “Yeah, Uncle Scrooge told him everything, how you were cursed with the Spell of Random Injuries, a very old and powerful spell that we are trying to break.” Dewey winked at Charity.

“Oh, yes…That curse,” Charity said with a knowing nod. “Yep. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“That’s okay. I understand why. Some people might not believe you, but I do. And it totally makes more sense than all that medical stuff that you lied about,” Launchpad said with a grin.

Surprisingly, it was Donald who spoke next, approaching the lovebird. He took Charity’s hand and patted it. “Oh, you poor poor girl. I can understand what you’re going through.” His emotions took him over, and he pulled the lovebird into a protective hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to break your curse.”

“Um…” Charity started with a worried look, “who is this and what is he saying?”

“That’s Uncle Donald. Just go with it,” Dewey told her, glad that his uncle had found someone else to smother with his protective instincts.

Louie smirked. “I think Uncle Donald may have found a kindred spirit. They both get hurt a lot.”

Touched but still confused, Charity said, “I don’t know how I’ll be able to thank you and Mr. McDuck for helping me.” She was still locked in Donald’s embrace and was wondering how she was going to get out without being rude. “Your family’s generosity has touched me deeply.”

It was then that Louie laughed, a silly idea popping in his head.

“What is it?” Dewey asked, curiously.

“Oh, it’s just I had a thought. You know Donald’s protective instincts?”

“Yeah, the ones that he channels into anger and rage whenever we’re in trouble.”

“Uh-huh. So, if some bad guy attacks Charity, you know he’s going to go ballistic just like with us.”

“Yeah, it seems it’s going to go that way,” Dewey said, now sharing the joke. “He’d be all like…” And here, Dewey commenced with a perfect angry Uncle Donald impersonation.

“Yeah, and then Charity would be like, ‘Oh, Donald, my hero,’ and would probably fall madly in love with him,” Louie said, exaggerating a falsetto voice for Charity, then laughed.

Dewey laughed too. “That would be horrible with how much Uncle Donald gets…hurt…”

Louie and Dewey’s eyes widened, no longer finding it funny.  
“We need to keep Uncle Donald away from Charity,” Dewey stated.

“Yep.”

Donald was at the point of rocking Charity as if she were a baby when the boys broke in, separating them.

“She’s not a hatchling, Uncle Donald.”

“Yeah, don’t make this weird.”

As the boys pushed Charity away, she came face to face with Della. “Wow, your family is really friendly,” she said.

“I think you mean bizarre,” Della said, wiping her hand on her pants and holding it out. “Hi, I’m Della, sister to your ‘kindred spirit’ there and mother to the boys.”

Charity eagerly shook her hand. “Oh, I read about you in the paper. That was amazing how you survived on the moon for ten years. It really put my life in perspective.”

“Yep, I was kind of amazing,” Della said, modesty pushed aside.

“Of course, that eventually led to Earth being invaded, so it kind of evens out,” Charity said, waving her hand to show the middle ground.

Della laughed. “Well, aren’t you a snarky one. If you’re going to stand around and insult me, you might as well help.” Della dropped a load of the boys’ clothes into Charity’s arms.

Not minding one bit to help out, Charity dove into the suds and soaked clothing, scrubbing them. “So, why are we washing these by hand? I may be mistaken, but shouldn’t Mr. McDuck be able to afford a washing machine?”

“As Scrooge always says, ‘I’m not buying one of those new-fangled machines that’s gonna break down in a month when the old-fashioned way works better’.” Della’s Scrooge McDuck impression was spot on. “You have no idea how long it took Donald and I to persuade him to get a TV when we were younger.”

“Ha ha. Yep, that is Mr. McD to a T,” Launchpad laughed.

As the saying went, many hands made light work, and the group finished up the large pile of laundry much faster than if Della had done it all by herself.

“Who-ho, I’m free!” Della shouted, running off. “See ya, suckers.” She stopped rapidly, turning around. “I’m sorry, boys. I didn’t mean that. I love you, bye.” Then she returned to running.

“We have the best mom,” Dewey said with his hands on his hips.

“Well, now what?” Charity asked the group. “Is there something we can do? What is Mr. McDuck’s plan to help me with my curse?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louie said. “We’ve got this.”

Dewey nodded. “You’re new to the whole adventure and breaking curses thing, so it’s just best to let _us_ Dewey it.”

Charity frowned. “Okay, if that’s what’s best.”

“In the meantime, let’s go do something fun,” Launchpad suggested. “Oh, man, Ducksburg has totally changed since you moved. There’s so much I want to show you. We could go to that new miniature golfing place. Or see the sights. Or—“

“Oh, do you remember that little café that served those tiny cakes,” Charity said. “Is that place still around?”

“You mean Papa Dovetail’s. Yeah. They got so popular, they moved downtown and is now a restaurant,” Launchpad answered.

“Do they still have tiny cakes?”

“Does Darkwing Duck fight evil?”

“Yes he does! Let’s go eat some cake.”

Both of the adults cheered.

“I’ll go get my car,” Launchpad announced.

Dewey and Louie jumped into action.

“Whoa, there buddy. What’s the rush?” Louie said, stalling for time.

“Yeah, why take a car in Ducksburg? You know what you two should do? Take the bus,” Dewey suggested.

“The bus?” Launchpad asked as if it were a foreign word.

“Yeah, the bus,” Dewey echoed. “Not only does it cut down on pollution, but it’s like taking a tour of the city as well.”

Charity smiled, understanding what the boys were doing. “Oh, come on, Launchpad. Let’s take the bus. It’ll be like old times before you were a disaster on four wheels.” She bumped her hip against his thigh.

“Alright,” Launchpad said congenially.

“Yes, let’s go,” Dewey said, leading the way until Louie grabbed the back of his collar. “Hey, what gives?”

“Dude, they’re going on a date,” Louie hissed at his brother. “Which means we can’t go with them.”

Dewey frowned. “Uh, first off, it’s not a date. It doesn’t count if a curse is involved. Second, we’re supposed to watch Launchpad, remember? And third, _cake!_ ”

“It’s totally a date,” Louie confirmed. “Just give it some time. Launchpad will finally grow up and realize how hot Charity is and will go for it.”

Dewey thought about it for a moment before wondering, “You think Charity is hot?”

Louie froze. “No. Just, let them go. Charity will keep Launchpad from getting hurt. Don’t worry about it.”

***

Mrs. Beakley’s cab dropped her off at Scrooge’s money bin. When she arrived at the top floor, Scrooge had just finished talking to Ms. Quackfaster who was returning to the history vaults.

“I take it things aren’t going well,” Mrs. Bealey said, reading her employer’s expression.

“Ms. Quackfaster has only been searching for a few hours, but with her photographic memory, I’m not betting on the possibility that she’s missed something,” Scrooge said, leaning his elbows on his desk. “I hope that you have better news.”

“Huey and Webby are still researching, but no luck. And as for Charity’s predicament…” Mrs. Beakley breathed in heavily. “…it’s worse than we thought.”

“Give it to me, 22.”

She did.

“Oh my. The lass really has landed in it,” Scrooge said, shaking his head. “Well, at least we know where three of them are. What about Jim Starling?”

“I’ve made some calls. I’m working on it. In the meantime, Donald and I will go to St. Canard and persuade Mr. Darkwing to take a few days off of work,” Mrs. Beakley said.

“I suppose a simple phone call wouldn’t be sufficient enough, would it? As for Crackshell-Cabrera, I’ll talk to him,” Scrooge said. “Perhaps it’ll be for the best. With his keen mind, he might be of some help.”

“That is if he’ll believe it,” Mrs. Beakley said, knowing that magic and science were often at war with each other.

***

All Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera wanted to do was fiddle with science. Any kind of science. Physics, biology, chemistry, astronomy, botany, and everything in between. Nothing would make him happier than tinkering with his next project, mapping blue prints, and taking science to the next step. The last thing he wanted to do was running errands for Gyro.

Given, he was an unpaid intern, and his first priority was making sure the head of the science department of McDuck Enterprise was happy, but it always galled him whenever Gyro sent him off to pick up his lunch. And he was in the middle of figuring out a chemical equation that could grow food at a faster pace, which would help the problem of world hunger. But that didn’t matter when Gyro was hungry and craving Papa Dovetail’s shrimp scampi.

And since he didn’t own a car, he had to walk a mile there and back. At least he was getting some exercise. Keeping limber was important.

“Great, and it’s the lunch rush,” Fenton said with a sigh, seeing a line of people on the sidewalk waiting to get a table. “Excuse me. I’m just picking up,” he said as he moved forward in the line, trying to get inside through the crowd. However, he was met with glares, elbows pushing him aside, and bodies pressed too close together and preventing him from moving forward.

This was definitely _not_ in his job description.

“Please let me grab my food so I can go,” he shouted into the crowd but nobody seemed to care. Instead, they pressed him against a waist-high, metal barricade that separated the waiting line from the seats.

“Are you okay?”

A pair of wide eyes stared at him with concern.

“Uh, maybe?” he said, unsure as a pretty lovebird stood up.

“Do you need some help?”

“No.” He pushed and pulled, trying to stop the crowd from squashing his kidneys. He was tempted to shout out, “Blatherin’ Blatherskite.” He changed his mind. “Yes, I need help.”

The woman pulled on his arms, and together, Fenton popped up and over the divide.

“Is this place always this crazy?” the female asked.

“Yeah. My boss has terrible timing. I’m here to pick up his lunch,” Fenton explained. “Do you mind if I wait here until I can speak to someone?”

“No, go ahead.” She gestured to the other chair.

Fenton looked around, seeing that all the tables were either filled or were being wiped down for the next customers in line. “So,” he began, “are you here all by yourself?”

“My friend is in the bathroom,” the woman replied.

She spotted a waiter and managed to catch his attention. The waiter seemed eager to come to the woman’s assistance, but was surprised when Fenton was grabbing take out.

“Sir, you really should wait in line for take out,” the waiter told Fenton.

The lovebird smiled. “He’s a friend. I thought it wouldn’t be a problem if he waited here. Is that okay?”

Fenton could see the waiter caving in. He added, hoping that it would speed things along, “It was ordered and paid online. It’s for Gyro Gearloose.”

The waiter ignored Fenton and nodded to the woman. “It’s no problem.”

When the waiter was gone, Fenton said, “Thank you so much, again.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad I can help.”

A thought popped in Fenton’s head, and at first he rejected it. After all, girls like her never went for the science-type. But then again, she was really nice.

“Um...would it be okay if I asked for your phone number?” The words formed on his beak almost even before he made a final decision. And once they were said, they couldn’t be unsaid.

The woman looked surprised and then fidgeted with her hands. Fenton could already tell the rejection was coming.

“I…don’t have a number. At least, not at this time. I’m kind of…between moves,” she said.

Her voice was sincere, but Fenton was skeptical of the excuse. Between moves? Doesn’t have a number? Who doesn’t have a cell phone? Maybe the homeless, but she didn’t look homeless.

“I’m sorry.”

Fenton didn’t let his disappointment show. “It’s alright. Maybe we’ll bump into each other some time when you do have a phone.”

She worried her bottom lip. Not long after, the waiter brought Fenton’s order.

“Thanks again for the seat. Bye.”

“Wait. Can I have your number? You know, for when I do get a phone.” She smiled.

Fenton blinked, surprised. It was all he could do was to reach into his wallet and pull out a business card.

“Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera,” the woman read. “Nice to meet you, Fenton.” She held out her hand.

He grabbed it, her blue hand stark against his white. “Nice to meet you, too…er…”

“I’m Charity.”

“Nice to meet you, Charity.” He let go of her hand quickly, realizing he held it too long. “I gotta go. My boss’s lunch,” Fenton said, pointing to the container. He went the same way he came, over the barricade, lost his balance, and fell into the crowd which was the only thing keeping him upright. He waved one last time to Charity before wiggling his way through the crowd, this time with a song in his heart.

Who knows, maybe she really did mean it when she said she would call him.

***

When Launchpad returned from the bathroom, Charity had her hand over her heart.

“Are you okay?”

Charity looked surprised at him, then noticed her hand. She quickly set it down. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” She smiled.

But as they ordered, her mind wasn’t on the dishes or the tiny cakes she had been looking forward to. She couldn’t help but wonder why her heart had been beating so quickly. It couldn’t be the curse. She wasn’t rescued. Fenton was nice, but it was her who had helped him, not the other way around. Did that make a difference?

Oh, it would be her luck if she fell in love with the first stranger she met in years. No, she was sure that the curse didn’t change. She would have known. But why was her heart beating so rapidly?

After they ate, they left the restaurant which was now a lot less crowded than before. Full of food and the taste of tiny cakes on their tongues, they walked down the street to the bus stop.

“So, where do you want to go now?” Launchpad asked. “We can do anything you want to do?”

Charity twirled a ringlet around her finger. “Anything?” A sneaky smile crossed her face. “Well…there is one thing I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”

“What is it? We’ll do it.”

“Okay, but as long as you promise not to crash.”

***

When Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge returned home that evening, they pulled up to the sound of an airplane taking off. The large red plane rose higher and higher in the air, circling McDuck Manor.

“What’s going on?” Scrooge asked, glaring at the plane.

Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “I don’t know. This definitely wasn’t part of our plans.”

They rushed into the mansion, calling for anyone to answer. They spotted Louie and Dewey first, coming out of the TV room when they heard the shouting.

“Where’s Launchpad going?” Scrooge demanded.

“Huh?” the boys answered simultaneously.

“You’re supposed to be watching him,” Scrooge said, pointing his cane. “Why is he flying the plane?”

The boys’ eyes widened.

“No, he’s on a date with Charity,” Louie explained. “He wouldn’t take her on the plane…”

“Maybe it’s Mom going for a joyride,” Dewey suggested, knowing how Della always needed to be doing something.

Scrooge folded his arms and glared.

Mrs. Beakley sighed. “I’ll call Launchpad. If it is him, maybe we can direct him to crash the plane in the safest way possible.”

***

Charity leaned over the controls, careful not to touch anything, looking at the sky, the clouds and what ground she could glimpse. “This is amazing, Launchpad. It’s no wonder you love flying so much. Oh, I think I can see Winding Wing from here.”  
“Here, let me give you a better view,” Launchpad said, turning the wheel drastically, tilting the plane almost completely on its side.

Charity screamed as she grabbed onto her seat, although the scream was interrupted with laughter. “Okay, I get it, Launchpad.”

But Launchpad wasn’t done yet. He righted the plane just as he pushed it down into a steep dive that pushed them deep in their seats, laughing as Charity squealed. They dropped almost a thousand feet before Launchpad pulled up again, getting them to cruising altitude.

“Show off,” Charity said with a smile. “Now that you’ve got my nerves all revved up, are you going to do a loop-de-loop or a barrel roll?”

“Not with this baby,” Launchpad said. “This model is too big for those kinds of maneuvers. It’s more for long distance travel.”

“Long distance, huh?” Charity said. “So, we could probably go anywhere in the world, huh?”  
“Well, not on the same tank of fuel, but we could get really far,” Launchpad answered expertly.

“If only we could fly fast enough to run away from my curse,” Charity said, feeling a sense of relief that she could talk about it with her best friend, if not the minute details.

“Don’t worry, Charity. If I know Mr. McD, he’ll break your curse before you can say, ‘Let’s get dangerous’,” Launchpad said.

Charity’s smile slowly disappeared. “Mr. McDuck seems to expect me to sit back and let him and his family take care of everything. I have been waiting years to do something about the curse, but I don’t think I can let others do all the work.”

Over the roar of the plane’s engine, they faintly heard the sound of the Darkwing Duck theme song.

“When there’s trouble, you call DW,” Launchpad sang off key.

“Uh, Launchpad, I think that’s your phone,” Charity told him.

“Right.” Digging into his back pocket, he pulled out the chiming device. “Oh, it’s Mrs. B. If I answer my phone while I’m driving, she’ll be mad. You answer it.”

He tossed the phone to Charity, who barely managed to catch it. Hesitating—and almost hoping that the call would go to voicemail before she could answer—Charity pressed the green button.

“Hello?”  
“Charity, are you and Launchpad in that plane?” Mrs. Beakley’s voice demanded.

“Yes…” Charity said through a smile.

“Tell Launchpad to turn around, and we’ll find some way to get you two down safely. If possible.”

Charity worried her beak, considering disobeying. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to decline that.”

“What? What is going on? Charity, you must listen to me. Launchpad—“

“Fun fact about Launchpad. He hasn’t died yet,” Charity said, her nerves galvanizing. “I’m pretty sure that’s not going to change anytime soon.”

“Charity, you need to be careful.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not fragile,” Charity said, feeling stronger. “I know you and Mr. McDuck and the whole family are a team of experts, but I’m part of the team, too. And I’m going to do what I can to help.”

Mrs. Beakley was silent for a while. “It sounds as if your mind is made up. If that is the case, then as a member of this team, you need to follow the instructions of your team leaders and work with us. And you can do that by—“

“Going to St. Canard,” Charity finished. “Launchpad and I will get Darkwing Duck.” And she hung up the phone.

“We are?” Launchpad asked, looking both excited and confused. “Why?”

“Because Darkwing is also part of my curse,” Charity said, revealing a little more of the truth.

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” Launchpad stretched out the world. “This…is…awesome!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity and Launchpad go to St. Canard.

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 7

_Did I tell Mom about Darkwing Duck 2.0 and Gizmoduck? Of course not. I may be a glutton for punishment, but I didn’t have a death wish._

***

If there was one thing a Scotsman could do, it was swear. Once it was safe for Mrs. Beakley to remove her hands from Dewey’s ears and Dewey to remove his hands from Louie’s, the elderly duck paced back and forth across the carpet.

“What is the lass thinking? Heading off on her own. Taking Launchpad of all people. What if something happens to them?” Scrooge ranted. “There’s nothing to it; we have to go after them.”

Mrs. Beakley cleared her throat. “On the contrary, Charity has shown remarkable initiative. After all, we did leave her out of our plans.”

“Because she shouldn’t have to do anything. Taking the fall for Launchpad and two super heroes. It’s a wonder she’s walking around,” Scrooge shouted. “Stubborn, incorrigible girl.”

“Sound an awful lot like someone else I know,” Mrs. Beakley said with a grin.

Scrooge growled. “As much as I hate to, we’re going to have to fly commercial. Order the plane tickets.”

Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “I think we should let her do this.”

“What?”

“As you said, she had been through a lot. But one thing nobody has understood is just how little control she has had of her own life. She can’t even control who she falls in love with,” Mrs. Beakley explained. “Think about it. Under her circumstances, do you blame her for wanting to rebel a little, to make rash decisions for once?”

“You may be right. Fine, we’ll let them go after this Darkwing character. But you keep in touch with them. Any sign of trouble, and we’ll send backup.”  
Mrs. Beakley nodded.

“What? Darkwing? Why are they going after Darkwing?” Dewey asked, jumping into the conversation.

Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge looked down, surprised to see the boys there.

“Oh, he’s part of the curse,” Scrooge said matter-of-factly.

“Wait, so Charity is in love with Darkwing Duck, too?” Louie asked. “He’s the other guy?”

“Well, one of them,” Mrs. Beakley muttered.

“In the meantime, any luck on finding that Starling fellow?” Scrooge asked.

“My people have investigated the fire at your studio. They have said it is possible that Jim Starling did escape the fire through a trap door. They found evidence of someone being there after the fire and may have gone through the sewers,” Mrs. Beakley reported. “There have also been several Darkwing Duck sightings outside of St. Canard, but they don’t look quite right.” Showing her phone to Scrooge, she scrolled through several photos, most blurry or the subject in the distances. Instead of wearing the purple traditional costume, this one was yellow and red.

“Hmph, it could be him,” Scrooge said. He had only seen the man for a few brief minutes, so he couldn’t be sure. “That’s at least something to go on.”

“What about Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera? How did he take the news?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

Grumbling, Scrooge slapped himself in the face. “I completely forgot.” When Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “What? There was an emergency at work. Ms. Quackfaster thought she found some books in a hidden vault about curses, but it turned out they were just cursed books. Interesting, but not helpful in our current predicament. I guess I’ll have to go back to the office to talk to him.”

He was about to call for Launchpad to bring the car around when he remembered that his chauffer was off gallivanting. “I guess I’ll just drive myself.”

“I’ll call you a cab,” Mrs. Beakley contradicted.

“I can drive myself, woman. It’s not that hard.”

“You haven’t had a driver’s license in over a decade. You’re taking a cab.”

The two continued to argue as they left the room, leaving Dewey and Louie alone.

“Whaaaaat?” Dewey said, pressing on his own cheeks. “Charity is in love with Launchpad, Darkwing Duck, and Gizmoduck? It’s like she’s me, only a girl and under a love curse.”

“And apparently with some guy named Jim Starling, whoever that is,” Louie said, looking a little concerned. “Sheesh, Charity just didn’t know when to say when.”

“Jim Starling is the original Darkwing Duck actor,” Dewey quickly explained.

“Ewww, isn’t he, like, fifty years old,” Louie guessed.

“Hmmm, two super heroes, a famous actor, and Launchpad. It looks like you have some competition for your little boy crush on Charity.”

Louie’s face grew red and twisted with angry. “I don’t have a crush on Charity.”

“Your words deny it, but your face says otherwise,” Dewey teased, then ran for his life as Louie shouted and grabbed at him.

***

It was almost too early for Darkwing Duck to be out, but the call he received on his personal line sounded urgent. With no time to head for the tower, Drake Mallard changed into his spare costume he kept at home and headed toward the scene of the crime.

It was terrible. It was horrible. Bodies torn apart, shredded and spread like a farmer planting oats. Everything broken and ripped apart. What a waste of good Darkwing Duck merchandise.

Darkwing watched from the shadows until one police officer noticed and nonchalantly made her way to him. Officially, the police couldn’t condone Darkwing’s vigilantism, and any cop was supposed to arrest him on sight, but there were several people on the force who believed that Darkwing was a hero and could contact him for certain cases.

“It’s just like the last five places hit,” the cop said, handing a plush Darkwing Duck toy into the shadows. “All they do is break the DW merchandise and leave everything else alone. There was also money left in the till.”

Rolling the toy in his hand, he studied the doll. It wasn’t anything special. Looking at the tag sewn to the doll, he recalled that the other broken merchandise was made by different companies. In all the break-ins, the only thing in common was the destruction of Darkwing Duck retail.

“You better be careful,” the officer said as she walked away. “It looks as if there’s someone around here who really doesn’t like you.”

***

Launchpad and Charity stood outside the gates of the small, local airport on the outskirts of St. Canard.

“So, what now?” Charity asked, looking down the empty road toward St. Canard, the closest buildings more than a mile away.

“Don’t know.”  
“Me neither. I didn’t think this far,” Charity replied.

The sky was mostly a dark blue with just a small dusting of soft yellow where the sun had disappeared below the horizon. The stars were dim next to the brilliant city nearby.

“What assets do we have?” Charity asked, taking on a superhero stance.

“Um…I have my phone, my jacket, my hat, and my wallet,” Launchpad said, patting all his pockets.

“I don’t suppose you have some money?” Charity wondered, patting her own pockets. When her mother drove her to the hospital last night, she had taken nothing with her. All she owned were her clothes—thanks to Launchpad—and the business card Fenton gave her from the restaurant.

“I have about ten bucks,” Launchpad reported, putting his wallet away.

“Not enough to call a cab,” Charity noted.

“I could use Mr. McD’s company card,” Launchpad offered. “However, he may have cut me off after that one time…”

Charity shook her head. She owed Mr. McDuck too much already. Plus, the airport was charging Scrooge for the damage to their runway. She silently promised the elderly duck that once this curse was gone, if she survived, she would get a job and pay off her debt to him, somehow.

“It looks like we’re walking. Come on, Launchpad. We’re off on an adventure,” Charity said, taking her friend’s hand.

“Yeah!” Launchpad cheered.

Apparently, Adventure didn’t necessarily need them to walk because not far away was a bus stop where they waited for public transport to take them into the heart of the city.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going, Launchpad?” Charity asked when Launchpad had them get off at a stop next to the Audubon Bay Bridge.

“Most definitely,” Launchpad said.

“I don’t know. My mind is still blown that you’re on speaking terms with _the_ Darkwing Duck,” Charity said, looking around as she tried to figure out where the secret lair of the super hero was.

During the flight to St. Canard, Launchpad had told the real story of what happened in the movie studio, the story that didn’t make it in the news. He had also told her that he knew Darkwing’s secret identity, but wouldn’t tell her no matter how much she pleaded and begged. Scrooge had paid a lot of money to prevent his name from being linked to the incident.

“Charity, do you trust me?” Launchpad asked.

Smiling, she said, “Of course, Launchpad. You know I love you.”

“And I love you, too, Charity. Like a sister.”

Together, hand-in-hand, they walked along the pedestrian part of the bridge, taking in the sights of the city’s lights reflecting on the bay.

Charity shivered as the night grew colder, the wind blowing stronger the farther along the bridge they went.

“Here, you wear this,” Launchpad said, pulling off his bomber jacket, leaving only a green wife-beater to cover him.

“No, you keep it. You’ll be cold without it,” Charity tried to refuse, but the heavy jacket was plopped over her shoulders. As the heat from the jacket comforted her, she thought, _Well, at least I can be warm for a few minutes._ However, it wasn’t long until the cold got to Launchpad, which transferred to her, and she strained her body to stop the shivering from showing.

When they arrived at the first of the towers that held up the thick cables of the suspension bridge, Launchpad began acting strange.

“What is it?” Charity asked.

“Okay, this is the tricky part. Can you make sure nobody is looking?” Launchpad asked as he searched the large, concrete walls.

Getting an idea of what he was looking for ,Charity turned her back to him, keeping watch in both directions on the pedestrian area. There were a few people, but they were too far away and too busy taking pictures of the bay. There were a lot of cars on the road, but she couldn’t imagine anyone would be paying attention to them while they were driving.

“Found it.”

Before Charity could turn around, she was pulled backward into a small niche carved into the tower. As soon as she was inside, a door slid shut, leaving them in near darkness with only a small, neon light glowing above them in the shape of an arrow pointing up. She stumbled as the unexpected sensation of an elevator going up shook her body. After about a minute, the elevator lurched and stopped. The sliding doors slowly opened.

“Charity, welcome to Darkwing Duck’s secret lair,” Launchpad said, leaving the elevator and presenting the lair with open arms.

It was dark. It was gritty. It was awesome.

“This is the best day of my life,” Charity breathed in awe as she spun in a slow circle.

“I know, right?”

They explored the lair, oohing and aahing at everything. Launchpad even took pictures. Soon, they were taking selfies in front of everything, posing in Darkwing’s motorcycle, in front of the large computer, and pretending to use the gadget. They had to stop when Launchpad accidentally set off some smoke bombs, making it hard to see or breath.

Coughing, Charity moved to a clear area to breath better, although she could still feel Launchpad’s lungs burning from the chemicals. Breathing deeply, she brushed against a button which opened a secret alcove.

“A secret lair in a secret lair. Darkwing’s so meta,” Charity said, going inside. “Wow, and a fan.”

Inside was a vast collection of Darkwing memorabilia, far superior to her own but probably a rival of Launchpad’s gathering. It was as if she had walked into a Darkwing museum, everything carefully positioned in glass cases. Action figures were posed to simulate a fight. Posters were framed with care. Comic books were displayed in coffin-like glass containers.

“And I thought Launchpad was obsessed,” Charity said, looking but not touching. Then she noticed a closet door with no decorations. Her curiosity got the better of her. If all these amazing things were out on display, what did Darkwing keep in the closet?

She opened it and grinned.

***

Still caught up in the smoke bomb, Launchpad grasped around in the smoke, finally finding a chair to sit down in. He sank into it, feeling the room spin as he recovered from breathing in the chemicals. However, he didn’t get much of a rest before something yanked on his shirt. He flew through the air, crashing to the ground. Someone stepped on his chest.

“Suck gas, evil—Launchpad?”

“Hey, DW. Is this a bad time?” Launchpad asked the barrel of a gun.

Darkwing immediately put away his gas launcher. “Launchpad, what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“You gave me a key card, remember?” Launchpad said, holding out the card. “You said I could drop by whenever.”

“I meant to call first.” He helped Launchpad to his feet. “This isn’t a good time. There’s been a string of strange incidents happening in the city.”

“Who is it? A genius mastermind? A super villain?” Launchpad asked excitedly.

“Well…ah…sort of,” Darkwing dithered. More than likely, it was just some punk kid who he had caught stealing a purse taking his anger out on DW swag. He was about to show Launchpad the map where all the break-ins occurred when he heard something behind him. Was there someone else there? How could anyone get in with his security?

“Get behind me, Launchpad. We’re not alone,” Darkwing said, reaching for his gas launcher.

“Oh, that’s just my friend, Char—“

“Friend? You brought someone to my secret hideout?” Darkwing asked, appalled. “Launchpad, this isn’t some place to hang out. This is serious. How could you—“

“Hey, check this out.” A form wrapped in purple popped out of a doorway. “I am the terror who flaps in the night. I am the piece of food that gets stuck in your teeth. I am Darkwing Duck.” The person opened the cape, exposing that she wore a hat and mask as well. She posed and grinned. Then her eyes widened as they fell on Darkwing.

“Cheese and crackers, Launchpad! Why didn’t you tell me he was here?” the woman squealed, ducking back through the doorway.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Darkwing said with a wry smile. “You brought a girl here. Way to go, Launchpad.” He elbowed the taller duck with a wink. “But it’s not appropriate to bring your dates here.”

Launchpad laughed. “She’s not my date. She’s my best friend, Charity.”

“Best friend?”

“Remember my call? I forgot her birthday, and she’s a huge fan…”

“It still doesn’t excuse you to reveal all my secrets,” Darkwing protested.

“I am so, so, so, sorry.” The women timidly came out again, sans costume, the very definition of apology. “I lost my head a bit by being here, and it really wasn’t appropriate of me to go through your stuff and try on your clothes and…Okay, so I’m not entirely sorry. I just thought I could get all my nerdiness out before meeting you.”

Darkwing recognized her expression. It was the same Launchpad had when talking about his favorite superhero. It was the same expression he had on himself after meeting Jim Starling, being chosen to play his hero in a movie and…well…basically every time he put on the mask.

She was a true fan. And not just someone who jumped on the band wagon recently, but one who had been around for a while. When Launchpad said he had a friend that was a fan, this woman wasn’t who he expected.

Especially not someone who looked like her.

Darkwing’s irritation drained away. “It’s no problem,” he said, turning on the charm he was used to as an actor. “Any friend of Launchpad’s is a friend of mine. What was your name again?”

“Charity.”

“Charity. That’s a beautiful name.”

He could see the blush spreading across Charity’s black feathered cheeks. He recognized the signs of a flattered female. His charms always worked.

“Launchpad also says you’re a fan?”

“Uh…yeah. In fact, I was just admiring your collection in the other room,” Charity said, sticking a thumb behind her shoulder.

“My collection?” Darkwing’s charm quickly turned off. “That door wasn’t open before. You didn’t touch anything, did you?” He rushed over to the door, looking inside.

“I promise I didn’t.” Charity tried not to take offense of the accusation. Timidly, she added, “Except for the costumes in the closet. I hope those were collector items, too.”

Darkwing sighed. “Naw, those are just extras. You wouldn’t believe how quickly I go through costumes. The only costume that I own that is a collector’s item is in the corner.”

The costume was displayed on a manikin, wrinkle-free and preserved.

“Is that blood on it?” Charity asked, looking closer.

“Cool. Battle damage,” Launchpad added.

“Fake blood. This was the costume Jim Starling used in the episode, ‘Quacker-Jumping-Jacks,’” Darkwing explained.

Charity gasped. “Oh, it’s from the scene where he gets shot and falls into the bay.”

“Yeah. Did you know for that scene, they actually lowered Jim Starling slowly to the water then sped up the film instead of using a stunt double?”

“Totally. They had to because the director wanted the camera to be on Darkwing Duck’s face the entire time. They couldn’t do that with a double.” Charity looked around the room again, admiring everything. “That episode totally gave me a great idea for my fanf—“ She stopped in mid-word, eyes wide.

“What was that?” Darkwing Duck asked, guessing what she was going to say.

“Nothing.”

“It sounded a lot like fanfic,” Darkwing continued to tease. “Do you write Darkwing Duck fanfiction?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Charity said, feigning ignorance and shrugging.

“Of course you do, Charity. She reads it all the time,” Launchpad broke in with a smile. “She also writes a lot of it, but she won’t let me read it.”

Charity laughed nervously. “It’s only because I’m a really, really, really bad writer.”

Darkwing smiled at her smugly, not buying her act. “Mmmm-hmmm,” he pandered. Maybe he should be reading fanfiction.

“Let’s change the subject,” Charity said, hiding her face. “Any subject will do.”

Launchpad’s phone rang again, the super hero theme song blasting from his back pocket. “It’s Mrs. B again. Hello.” As he answered, he drifted out of the room.

Feeling a little nervous about being alone with Darkwing, Charity circled the room, looking again at all the glass cases and keeping her hands behind her back. Without knowing she was doing it, she hummed the theme song as she browsed.

“When there’s trouble, you call DW. Darkwing Duck,” she sang softly, bending over the Pez dispensers of all the Darkwing Duck characters.

“Let’s get dangerous,” a voice sang so close to her ear, she felt breath on her neck.

A chill ran down her spine, and she jumped away, blush spreading from her cheeks all over her face. “Oh, you scared me,” she said with a smile, pressing a hand against her chest where her heart threatened to break through.

“You have a pretty voice,” Darkwing said, letting her keep her distance. He had forgotten what this was like, back when he was an actor. The flustered fans, flirting with them, giving them the attention they loved. Charity was easy to read. She totally had a celebrity crush on him.

“Thanks. It helps that I play a lot of Let’s Sing Karaoke,” Charity said, her nervousness ebbing.

“Singing the Darkwing Duck theme song on it?”

“Of course.” Charity looked as confident as Darkwing at that moment. “I’ve held the championship spot online for three consecutive months and going.”

“Not any more. Someone broke your record,” Darkwing told her.

“What?” Charity set her beak in determination. “When did that happen? Who beat me?”

“I did,” Darkwing said, pointing a thumb at his chest. “Two days ago.”

“You,” Charity whispered darkly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re BiggestDWFanBoi, are you?”

“Yep.”

Charity straightened up. “It’s impressive you can hit those high notes,” she conceded.

“Thanks. Although I thought I would hurt my vocal cords on the last chorus,” Darkwing said, massaging his throat.

Charity touched her own throat. “You almost did,” she whispered.

“What was that?”  
“Nothing,” Charity covered up. “However, take your jollies when you can because once I get ahold of my microphone and laptop, you are going down.”

“Why wait?” Darkwing asked. “I have everything we need here.”

“Really?”

In less than a minute, they were standing in front of a computer with a screen bigger than ten feet tall and more buttons that an arcade.

“Are you using an advanced super computer to play karaoke?” Charity asked.

“Yep.”

“I see nothing wrong with this.”

As Darkwing keyed up the program, Launchpad approached.

“Mrs. B says we ‘finish the mission’ and ‘get our tails back to Ducksburg’,” Launchpad reported, using finger quotes.

Charity bit her lower beak, realizing that meant telling Darkwing about the curse. She stalled. “Can we do it later? We’re about to play karaoke. Can you imagine, karaoke with Darkwing?” Her eyes were shining.

Launchpad considered her words before giving her the thumbs up.

***

Fenton sighed with relief. He had caught up on all the work Gyro had given him, cleaned up the several failed experiments, made calibrations on Gizmoduck, and waved the grumpy boss off to the elevator. He was now alone. After hours in the lab was all for himself.

It was time for him to work on his own experiments. He had waited all day for this, to focus on his own personal projects. He had been dreaming all day for this moment, although a few times his thoughts did drift to the pretty woman he met in the restaurant.

“Fenton!”

Tripping at the sound of his name, Fenton strained to catch an experimental energy source he was working on before it crashed to the floor and exploded. “Oh, Mr. McDuck. What are you doing here so late?”

“I have something very important that I need to tell you.”

Fenton went through a mixture of emotions beginning with an old fear of being fired to surprise that the tycoon actually remembered his name.

“Uh, what can I do for you, Mr. McDuck?” Fenton asked, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

“Let’s have a seat, lad. It’s a long story,” Scrooge said, gesturing to two seats. After they sat, he explained everything that he saw and was told the night before, leaving out no details except for names.

At first, Fenton listened like a good, eager employee, but the longer Scrooge talked, the more skeptical the scientist became.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Scrooge asked, remembering Mrs. Beakley’s warning. “I know it’s a little farfetched—”

“Farfetched? It’s downright unbelievable,” Fenton said, feeling irritated that his work was interrupted for this. “Impossible.

“Now, hold on. We’ve seen the impossible before,” Scrooge countered.

“It only seems impossible because we don’t understand it,” Fenton reasoned. “What people say is magic is only science that we don’t know how it works. Which is the very reason why I have submitted several requests to examine some of those ‘magic relics’ you claim to own.”

“This isn’t some sort of lab experiment. This girl needs help from a very powerful curse,” Scrooge insisted. “What about the shadows? Hmmm? Can you explain those?”

“Yes,” Fenton said, gesturing wildly with his arms. “This Magika de Spell simply opened an interdimensional portal to a shadow realm, releasing the denizens. The amulet she had was just a remote that summoned and banished them with a voice command.”

“Sounds like magic to me,” Scrooge said.

“Gyro and I have been experimenting with the same technology with unsuccessful results,” Fenton said. “Magika just had perfected it.”

“How? McDuck enterprises is at the cutting edge of technological advances. Where did she get it?”

“I don’t know,” Fenton said, frowning. “From a competitor company. Or from aliens. Or from an ancient race of featherless beings from the far past. My point is that everything you have said is magic, I can show you theories or breakthroughs in science that can explain it. That’s logic. But this whole cockamamie story about…a family curse from thousands of years ago that transfers illnesses and injuries from one body to another, all based on who a person falls in love with…It’s preposterous. It’s not logical.”

“Neither is love,” Scrooge added sagely.

“Look, I’m not disputing the idea of love. If anyone’s open to that possibility, it’s me,” Fenton said, looking away for a second. “But I just can’t believe that this…girl fell in love with me after a passing moment which somehow triggered an ancient curse.”

“She didn’t fall in love with you. She fell in love with Gizmoduck,” Scrooge stated.

That didn’t make things better. But Fenton didn’t show how much that bothered him. “Regardless, whoever this girl is, she’s conning you, Scrooge. I don’t know how or why, but it just isn’t possible.”

Scrooge glowered, snapping his cane against the floor. “I’m Scrooge McDuck. I’ve out-smarted the smarties and out-sharped the sharpies. I can tell when I’m being conned.”

Fenton still didn’t look convinced. “Here’s a logical explanation to what is going on. This girl probably has some medical condition, something that gets her hurt all the time. There are several I can name, and she probably convinced herself that she’s under a curse, concocted a myth, and used some cheap tricks to persuade you to help her. She doesn’t need her curse broken. She needs a good psychologist.”

Sickened by the scientist’s pragmatic view, Scrooge decided to change his tactics, using some of the same questions Charity asked the night before. “By the way, Fenton, how have you been doing as Gizmoduck? Is the suit working out?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Glad to be on a safer subject, Fenton answered with limited patience. “The suit is working fine. I just upgraded the software, and it should perform at least ten percent more effectively.”

“You haven’t injured yourself recently while flying around and fighting crime?” Scrooge asked.

Realizing what Scrooge was doing, Fenton met the elderly duck glare for glare. “No, I haven’t. Which is what the suit was designed to do. To protect me.”

“Well, that’s all good when you’re inside the suit, but what about outside of it,” Scrooge said, smiling. “Gyro has told me that lab accidents are quite common around here.”

“Yes, that’s correct. But we take safety precautions to make sure no one gets hurt,” Fenton countered.

“What about sicknesses? Haven’t had any problems in that area? As a matter of fact, why don’t you tell me when was the last time you felt any pain?” Scrooge asked.

Fenton stood up. “I don’t have to answer any more questions, but I’ll humor you, Mr. McDuck. I’m a healthy, safety-conscious guy. Just because I can’t remember when the last time I called in sick or got a paper cut, doesn’t mean anything. Instead of interrogating me, you should be questioning this girl.” Before Scrooge could say anything more, Fenton held up his hand, saying he had enough. “Please, excuse me, Mr. McDuck. Unless you have something _important_ to say, I would like to get back to work.”

Scrooge stewed in his anger as the scientist turned his back on his employer. Hopping from his chair, he walked to the elevator, grumbling under his breath, using words like “daft” and “stubborn” frequently.

But he reminded himself that sometimes patience was key. The truth always came out. Charity had only fallen in love with Gizmoduck not that long ago. It might take time for the hardheaded scientist to see what he couldn’t before.

***

“And that’s how it’s done,” Darkwing said, tossing the mic back to Charity. Not only had he beaten her again, but he had broken his old score. “You’re turn, if you’re up to it.”

Charity smiled, feeling an ach in her throat, and it had nothing to do with emotions. Between Darkwing’s straining his vocal cords to reach the high notes and her own competitive nature, her throat felt thrashed. “Actually, I’m needing a break. Do you have any water?”  
“Yeah, and I don’t suppose you have any munchies as well?” Launchpad asked eagerly. He had been a captive audience as Darkwing and Charity competed against each other, happy just to watch.

“Sorry, I don’t keep refreshments up here,” Darkwing apologized with a shrug.

“Then I’ll go get us something,” Launchpad said. “They had some restaurants next to the bridge.” He headed to the elevator.

“Launchpad, I don’t think it’s a good idea. There’s still a lot of people around,” Darkwing Duck warned, but Launchpad was already gone. He sighed.

“Don’t worry. Launchpad was really careful when we came up. He won’t let you down,” Charity reassured.

“Oh, I know. I just get a little nervous, though. I haven’t been a super hero for very long.”

“But you’re doing a great job,” Charity said, clearing her throat. It was so dry from the singing.

“Here, I think I can get you a drink. That is, if you don’t mind tap,” Darkwing said, moving from his seat.

“Right now, I think I could drink from the bay,” Charity joked.

Soon, Darkwing handed her a cup filled with water. The cup was decorated in imagines of the old Darkwing Duck in different fighting stances.

“Is it okay for me to use this?” Charity asked worriedly, remembering the museum-like secret room.

“Oh, yeah. It’s not worth much,” Darkwing said.

Charity took a drink.

“On account of the lead paint.”

Charity spat out what was in her mouth, coughing.

“I’m kidding. Sorry. I thought you would know that was a joke,” Darkwing said, patting Charity’s back.

“I’m not a fanatic like you and Launchpad are,” Charity gasped, taking another drink. She chuckled anyway.

“Speaking of Launchpad, how long have you two known each other?”

“Since the sixth grade.”

“Long time. Just friends or…” Darkwing knew he was digging. After all, Charity had intrigued him.

“Just friends,” Charity replied with a smile. “It’s like we’re brother and sister.”

Inside his head, Darkwing felt a thrill. He had been flirting with Charity all night, and she had responded with playful flirting or blushes. But then again, Charity was inside a safety net. She was just visiting, and soon, she would be gone, never knowing who he was behind the mask. Flirting with her felt innocent.

For that reason alone, he should stop. But there was something about her that he was drawn to. Perhaps the fact that she was a Darkwing Duck fan and they had so much in common, or perhaps it was because of how easily she blushed at his flirting, at an accidental touch, that made her endearing. But there was also something vulnerable about her that made him want to be near her, as if danger was lurking just behind her at every moment.

“I have a fantastic idea,” Darkwing said with a grin, deciding to live the moment and flirt the night away. “Do you want to see if we can beat the high score on duet mode.”

Charity’s eyes brightened, which was enough of an answer for him.

***

Launchpad picked a burger franchise, sticking to the dollar menu since he still only had ten bucks. As he waited in line, a little girl hugged a plush Darkwing Duck toy as she held her mother’s hand.

“Wow, cool toy,” Launchpad said when the girl eyed him.

The girl grinned, holding the toy closer.

“Where did you get it?” Launchpad asked, squatting down to her level. “I have a friend who would love to have one just like it.”

The girl looked up to her mother, who smiled kindly at him. “Oh, I’m not certain, but a lot of stores around he carry them. In fact, I think if you go along the bay, there’s a store that has them in their window.”

“Thanks. You keep DW safe, alright,” Launchpad told the girl.

She nodded and stepped forward with her mother as they went to the cashier to order.

With a sack filled with all the burgers and fries he could buy plus a drink for Charity with twenty-six cents left over, he started back with a skip to his step, turning down the street in front of the bay instead of going directly to the bridge.

As it was dark, a lot of the shops were closed and there were few people out. But this didn’t deter Launchpad as he searched for the store, looking in every window for the Darkwing Duck toy. He finally spotted it, a single doll propped against a box, its button eyes gazing blankly.

Most of the lights were out in the store, but the sign in the window still said “Open.” He checked the door; it wasn’t locked. “Excuse me. How much is that Darkwing in the window?” Launchpad called out, reaching into his bag for a handful of fries and stuffing them into his mouth.

When no one replied, he called out again through the mouthful, “Hello? Is anyone here?” He stepped farther into the shop, his feet coming into contact with something on the floor. Looking down, he could see smashed mugs, torn cloth and lots and lots of stuffing. Only then did he suspect something was up.

“I guess I come back another time,” Launchpad said, turning around only to have a gun, shoved into his beak for the second time that day.

“You look familiar,” a dark shadow standing before him said, the voice raspy and deep. Launchpad knew that voice but there was something different about it. “What a coincidence to find you here.”

Launchpad dropped his sack and put his hands in the air. “I don’t have a lot of money. Just twenty-six cents. You can have it.”

“I don’t want your money,” the shadow said, grabbing his shirt and pulled him closer. At this range, Launchpad could see the shadow was wearing a black mask and a large-brimmed, ragged hat. “I want you to take me to Darkwing Duck.”

***

“We did it!” Darkwing shouted, pumping a fist.

“Yeah, in your face, DWGirl34 and DuckKnite,” Charity added, doing a dance, riding the ecstasy of singing the song with Darkwing Duck. That moment was more than she ever dreamed, so she didn’t expect for the hero to pick her up bridal style and spin her in a circle.

“Wow, you’re really excited by this,” Charity said as she was set on her feet.

“Hey, after singing for thirty straight minutes, we worked hard for that score,” Darkwing said in his best hero voice. “Which reminds me, how’s your throat?”

“Not bad,” Charity said truthfully. With Darkwing singing the male part, she didn’t have too much trouble keeping up with him. “Although, can I get some more water?”

“Over there is the bathroom with a sink,” Darkwing directed.

With Charity occupied, he checked with his computer, seeing if there was anything that needed his attention. No alarms, nothing on the police scanners except a few domestic disputes and petty thefts, although it was still early. The really hard-core crimes happened later at night. Normally, he would be taking a nap at this time and would start his patrol in a few hours, but he hadn’t realized how much he missed people. Moving to another city with no contacts, no friends, no family, he hadn’t realized how lonely he was.

He could take a night off. St. Canard did well enough before he came along.

As he typed, he heard the bell of the elevator and the humming of the motor working to bring the car up.

“Sounds like Launchpad is back,” he called, doing a quick research on the Internet for any break-ins involving Darkwing Duck merchandise in other cities, in case it was a new fad with the punk teenagers.

“Good. Singing really builds up an appetite,” Charity quipped, sitting back down with her water. “I don’t suppose you’re up for another duet that isn’t the Darkwing Duck theme song.”

“Hmmm, I think that could be arranged,” Darkwing said, changing the screen back to karaoke and turning around just as the elevator dinged and the doors slipped open.

There was a glint of metal which was all the warning Darkwing got to duck, his instincts kicking in before he even knew there was danger. The sound of a gunshot and the feeling of something zipping overhead kicked in the adrenaline.

“Darkwing, run,” Launchpad shouted, then the sounds of a struggle ensued.

“Launchpad!” Charity screamed.

Darkwing grabbed Charity’s wrist, pulling her down roughly next to him on the floor. “Stay here,” he ordered, reaching into his belt for his gas launcher. Using a chair for partial cover, he carefully stood up, aiming the weapon toward the elevator car. He hesitated to pull the trigger as he saw Launchpad wrestling for possession of a gun from…Darkwing Duck? No, that wasn’t right. The costume was a different color, garish and disconcerting.

With a kick to the gut, Launchpad lost the struggle for the gun. As he doubled over, gasping, his assailant hit him on the back of his head, knocking him out.

Charity cried out from where she huddled on the floor.

“Don’t move,” Darkwing shouted at the intruder, taking aim. But before he could launch one of his gas grenades, the imposter Darkwing shot wildly at him.

Dodging, Darkwing rolled away, finding better cover behind his motorcycle that sat between him and the intruder. As he carefully moved around one of the tires to fire his gas launcher, more bullets shot at him, one hitting his weapon out of his hands.

Darkwing ducked back behind the motorcycle, berating himself. He was too slow, too clumsy. The real Darkwing Duck wouldn’t have let that happen to him. He wasn’t as experienced as he needed to be.

Reaching into his utility belt, Darkwing pulled out a handful of smoke bombs and threw them in the approximate direction of the intruder, hoping that they would be of some help. As he heard the smoke bombs popping as they hit the floor, he peered around the motorcycle, seeing that he had luckily hit his target.

Now was his time to shine.

“I am the terror who flaps in the night,” he spoke, getting closer, although the shadowy form in the gas followed his voice. “I am the Lego you step on in the night. I am—“

“A fake!” the intruder shouted, squeezing the trigger and releasing three more rounds. With the smoke impairing his vision, the shots whizzed away harmlessly.

Closing the gap even more, Darkwing kicked at the gun, the weapon flying through the air and clattering to the floor a distance away.

The intruder threw a punch at Darkwing, swinging wildly again and again when his attacks didn’t land. Wrapped in his cloak, Darkwing dodged deftly, always keeping a few seconds ahead of his opponent.

Even without good ventilation in the tower, the smoke was beginning to clear, the two able to see each other clearly. And the longer Darkwing looked at the intruder, the more he thought the Darkwing Duck imposter looked familiar.

“You dirty, name-stealing thief,” the intruder shouted. “You’re not Darkwing Duck. I am!”

It was pretty clear to Darkwing that whoever this guy was, he wasn’t right in the head. The best thing to do was to neutralize him and get him the help that he needed.

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty,” Darkwing said, using cliché lines with the intention of distracting the intruder. “We can work this out.” Dropping in a crouch, Darkwing swept his leg out and knocked the guy over, dropping him to the ground.

Before Darkwing could restrain the intruder, he scrambled away on hand and knees, reaching out for the gun that was ten feet away.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Darkwing yelled, grabbing the red cape and pulled hard. When he saw the guy’s masked face and the crazed look in his eye, he knew that the intruder wasn’t going to take the easy way. He pulled back his fist and struck out.

***

Charity had been watching the fight between the legs of a chair while lying on the floor, trembling in fear. This was a lot more excitement than she had expected and definitely not what she signed up for.

Her head and gut ached from when Launchpad was knocked about by the intruder, and she gritted her teeth in anticipation for more pain as she watched with wide eyes.

_Please don’t let him get hurt,_ she thought, her heart pounding, anxiety tightening around her throat every time Darkwing dodged another attack.

Then pain burst from her eye, the sensation familiar to her, but she was confused. Hadn’t she just seen Darkwing hit the other guy, not the other way around? That didn’t make sense. How could she feel the intruder’s pain?

And then it hit her just as Darkwing hit the guy again in the beak. Ignoring the stinging in her nostrils as the blood poured out, she lunged at Darkwing, restraining him from hitting the man again.

“Stop it!”

“Charity? Get away. He’s dangerous,” Darkwing shouted, his voice harsh from the fight but still riddled with concern.

“Don’t hit him,” Charity shouted, not letting go. “That’s Jim! Don’t hit him.”

“Jim? Jim who?”

The intruder took the interruption in the fight to kick Darkwing, sending both the super hero and Charity sprawling. He teetered for a second before racing to the nearest window of the tower at full speed, wrapping himself in his cape before breaking through the glass and disappearing into the night.

Racing to the broken window, Darkwing looked down, his face brooding. He gazed out into the night before turning his head to Charity, glowering. Slowly, he walked over, picked up the discarded gun, and set it on the computer console.

Sensing that they were out of danger, Charity crawled to Launchpad. She could still feel the blow on the back of her head, but she wasn’t so lucky as to be knocked unconscious by it. She checked his pulse, glad to feel it beating strongly against his wrist.

“What was that?” Darkwing asked her, suddenly standing over her. “Do you know who that was?”

Charity gulped. “It was Jim Starling.”

Darkwing stumbled back, surprised. “No. Jim is dead. I saw him die.”

“He’s not dead,” Charity said, feeling suddenly tired, more tired than she had felt before as she prepared herself to try to convince another person that she wasn’t lying. “And I can prove it.”


End file.
